


Have Your Way

by catholicschoolgirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Consensual Violence, Depression, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone is mean to Liam, Explicit Sexual Content, Harry also being a hot mess, Harry throwing things at Zayn, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Infidelity, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, POV Multiple, Recreational Drug Use, Threesome - M/M/M, Unnegotiated Kink, Zayn being a hot mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They became <i>that</i> couple – on again and off again, breaking up whenever it was convenient and staying together whenever it wasn't.”<br/>Or the one where Harry breaks up with Liam whenever he wants to cheat, and Liam decides that two can play that game. </p><p>On Indefinite Hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal thanks to Frida for being the best beta ever. I started this story last year and revisited it in the past month, and Frida is 100% to thank for this chapter not being some lame, completely rushed piece of shit.
> 
> I don't anticipate this story being _quite_ as fucked up as [So We Are History](http://archiveofourown.org/works/982930/chapters/1936276), but heed the tags, please, and if you want me to add more warnings, let me know!
> 
> I'm going to try and get on a regular posting schedule again, but I just wanted to get this and my other WIP up so. Here we go.
> 
> Title from the JLS song of the same name.

“Let's just – I just need some space, all right, Liam?”

Liam nodded distantly, shoving down the disappointment that was starting to build in his throat, almost making him nauseous. Liam shouldn't be surprised – this was what Harry _did_. Had since they were both in college – bright eyed, full of potential and so in love that it terrified them – and while Liam dealt with his fears and insecurities by clinging to Harry tighter, Harry tended to do the opposite, pushing Liam away whenever it got to be too much, claiming he “needed a break” when all he wanted to do was get his rocks off with someone who wasn't Liam.

It was shit and Liam pretended as though it didn't hurt when all it did was gnaw away at his very soul. It was just, things weren't supposed to be this hard, right? Liam was a good-looking twenty-four-year-old, had worked hard and graduated from a good university with honors, had a great job, and lived in a nice if overpriced apartment in San Francisco with his equally catch-worthy boyfriend, and Liam knew what they looked like from the outside, but, like – this wasn't normal. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, wasn't how Liam had mapped his life out.

But Liam never fought it. He just nodded and got up from the kitchen, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal, acting as though he was ignoring Harry even though Liam's ear picked up every single one of Harry's movements – walking into their bedroom, changing, walking into the bathroom, doing his hair and putting on that special cologne that he hardly wore around Liam anymore, grabbing his keys from the bowl in the kitchen and walking out of their apartment – and Liam tried not to think about how Harry was probably on the prowl at some dimly lit nightclub, how Harry would come home smelling of another person, looking well-fucked and absolutely delectable, and how Liam was supposed to go down to his new office on Monday, having been promoted and transferred to the marketing department at his company, and how he would have to pretend as though everything was all right when all he wanted to do was cry.

Liam took another bite of soggy cereal and resolutely didn't think.

 

Liam wasn't entirely sure how he and Harry had gotten into this mess. It wasn't like Liam had trapped Harry into this relationship – shit, _Harry_ had been the one who chased _Liam_.

It seemed like they had been together forever, but really it had only been something like three years, after Harry walked up to Liam at a football game and made camp in Liam's life. Liam had just come out of the bathroom and was waiting at one of the concession stands when Harry had walked up to him, complimenting Liam on his curls, making Liam laugh, offering to buy Liam a beer even though neither of them were 21. Harry was charming and it seemed like a good idea to give Harry his number, hell, even seemed like a good idea to invite Harry to come back to his seat. And Harry had come, and they kept talking, and they went back to Liam's frat together after the game, playing beer pong and somehow ending up in Liam's bed, Harry bracketing Liam with his arms and thighs, grinding down into Liam and murmuring, “You're so hot, I want to do this with you all the time.”

And honestly, Liam was at a point in his life where relationships weren't particularly appealing. He was so busy trying to get into Haas and pretending like his last girlfriend hadn't stomped on his heart with her stilettos, so Liam didn't really say anything in response to Harry, but let Harry jerk him off nonetheless. The sex was easy, and so was the conversation, but it took months for Harry to wear Liam down to the point where Liam was willing to go out with Harry on a date. It took another few months after that for Harry to work up the courage to ask Liam to be his boyfriend. And after that point, it should've been happily ever after, right? Because that's usually where all the stories end, right, after the hot, rejoicing sex scene where the two idiots finally stop dancing around each other and admit their mutual love and undying affection. Maybe there's a coda where they smile into each other's mouths and think about how stupid they were to not do this for so long, but. Liam and Harry's relationship wasn't like that. If anything, things got really fucked up _after_ they became official. They became _that_ couple – on again and off again, breaking up whenever it was convenient and staying together whenever it wasn't. Except most of the time, the one doing the breaking up was Harry. Like, Harry always came back, usually within the week, but it was exhausting.

It was Liam's fault, though, he knew that. He kept _letting_ Harry come back, never told Harry how he felt, how crushed he was to think that he wasn't enough for Harry – even though Harry had to know, right? Liam wasn't a good actor, he always worked out too much when they were on their breaks, was always wound up far too tight. Regardless, it was just too much. But Liam loved Harry, couldn't stop himself from selfishly suffocating Harry with his affection every time Harry came back and snuggled into his arms, saying that this was the last time. And it never was.

It was stupid. Liam just felt so stupid.

 

Harry hadn't come home the night before, was probably too busy whispering sweet nothings to some stranger with a great ass or whatever it was he went looking for when he wasn't fucking Liam – not that Liam had thought about it all night, no, of course not. Liam had other things to worry about, like his new position and making a good impression and not thinking about Harry because Harry was a distraction and also a life ruiner.

Liam took the F train downtown, getting off at the Embarcadero and cursing himself because he was about an hour early. It was just – Liam couldn't sit around in that apartment, furnished with all of the dumb shit Harry had picked out, walls decorated with pictures of Harry and Liam pretending to be a happy couple, their cat, Nicholas, meowing at Liam as if he was asking where the fuck Harry was – it was too much, so Liam just kind of got ready and left, not even noticing how early it was, the soft rays of the sun spilling over the horizon as Liam looked out the window of the Muni car, making Liam think of Harry and the time they had gone camping and stayed up all night so they could watch the sunrise together.

Fuck the sunrise.

Liam's new building was a few blocks off Market, so it would only take Liam something like five minutes to walk there, meaning that Liam had a lot of fucking time to kill. Sighing, Liam aimlessly made his way into a nearby Starbucks, groaning a bit at the huge line inside but hell, at least waiting would give him something to do.

Liam pulled out his phone and resolutely ignored the handful of texts from Harry – Harry was probably home now, wondering where Liam was, half-assed apologies already on his tongue, maybe already planning his “I'm sorry I'm an emotionally stunted dick” consolation meal. Liam just – he couldn't deal with that now, so he played games on his phone instead.

Before Liam knew it, he was second in line. He put his phone away, and looked up as the family in front of him finished – and straight into the most gorgeous hazel eyes he had ever seen.

Liam had never really worked out his feelings on fate. Harry said that he didn't really believe in it, arguing that while circumstances had brought him and Liam together, Harry took it upon himself to talk to Liam the day they met – fate had nothing to do with it. And when Liam had looked at Harry for the first time, it had felt familiar, as if they had already known each other somehow, but the word “fate” had never crossed Liam's mind. It had only felt easy, natural, not like the cosmos had aligned or anything equally dramatic.

Standing in that coffee shop, looking into the face of someone who was simply the most beautiful person Liam had ever seen, Liam's heart stopped and something inside of himself clicked and locked into place. This felt important and Liam's mind couldn't help but supply, “This is what fate feels like.”

And if the half-startled, half-awed expression on this guy's face was any indication – well, he was thinking it, too.

“Hi,” the beauty said almost breathlessly. “Um, what can I get you?”

“Your name and number,” Liam blurted thoughtlessly. “And a pumpkin spice latte, please.”

“I'm – uh, okay. My name is Zayn, and yeah, coming right up,” the guy – _Zayn_ – answered, stumbling over his words. Liam was half in love with him already, endlessly endeared by Zayn's awkwardness. Zayn took a moment to just kind of gaze at Liam thoughtfully before ringing Liam up and going to make his latte. Zayn gestured for one of his coworkers to take over the register and looked up at Liam shyly.

“You've got a name, yourself?” Zayn asked, peering up through his eyelashes and shit, Liam was so, so fucked.

“Liam.”

“Lee-yum,” Zayn repeated, almost like he was trying out the way it felt on his tongue. Most people didn't drag Liam's name out like that, but Liam could get used to the way it sounded coming out of Zayn's mouth. “Okay, all right. You work around here?”

Liam nodded, drumming his fingers on the counter nervously. “I just got a position here downtown, a few blocks away.”

Zayn smiled softly to himself. “I work here part-time, Monday through Friday, during the morning commute crunch. I mean – not that you asked, God. But like. If you were here? If you wanted a free muffin or something? I don't know.”

“I like muffins,” Liam replied nonsensically. He was so fucking nervous. Zayn was just so gorgeous, he was just making a drink but he made it seem fascinating – it was distracting, how good Zayn's fingers looked as he poured out Liam's drink, how sharp his cheekbones were when he looked down, the soft shadow of stubble peppering his jaw. Liam wasn't an artist, couldn't draw for shit, couldn't write, but he wanted to paint Zayn, wanted to write sonnets dedicated to Zayn's ethereal beauty. “Like, I wouldn't mind. I could definitely hang out here, I mean. If you were here. That would be great.”

“Great,” Zayn said, laughing around the word. “Um. Here's your drink.” Zayn pushed the latte into Liam's hands and chewed on his lip. “Do you want a muffin now?”

“Um, I'd rather have your number,” Liam answered honestly. “If that's all right. Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“Not that I'm aware of,” Zayn breathed.

“You're too fucking gorgeous for that to be true,” Liam replied, because it appeared as though his brain-to-mouth filter wasn't working. Zayn laughed though, so Liam supposed it was all right.

“Well, what about you?” Zayn asked, leaning over the counter and giving Liam a long once-over. “You work around here, and you're wearing dress pants, so you have a nice job, but you're hitting on a barista. Sure you don't have a nice girl at home and are just looking for a bit of fun?”

Liam gulped. “Would it change anything if I said it was complicated?”

Zayn shrugged a bit. “Would it change anything if I said I lied, earlier?”

Liam made a small, confused noise. “When?”

“Just now,” Zayn admitted. “I don't have a boyfriend or girlfriend, but I do have a fiancee.”

Liam stopped breathing. Zayn's face crumbled a bit, and his coworker called him back over to the register, but before turning around to comply, Zayn grabbed a Sharpie and scribbled a number onto a napkin.

“Things are complicated for both of us, obviously,” Zayn said all in a rush. “But I'd really like to know you, yeah? I can feel it – you can too, right?”

Liam nodded and Zayn mirrored him, his lips pulling up into the semblance of a smile. “Come back soon, all right? Or text me. Whatever.”

“All right,” Liam said, taking the napkin and stuffing it into his pocket before he could think about it. It was possible that this was a horrible idea, even if he tried to keep it strictly platonic with Zayn – hell, he could tell already that it was a fucking awful idea, but – maybe that's what Liam needed, to do something stupid, something reckless, something selfish with a pretty boy who only knew Liam for a few minutes but made something dangerous and irresistible burn inside of his veins. Still nodding at Zayn, Liam practically ran out of the Starbucks and to his new office building, where he thought about gorgeous hazel eyes and the warm smell of coffee all day.

Liam didn't think about Harry again until he was heading home.   


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But mostly Liam was tired. Tired from work, tired of commuting, tired of hearing The Rolling Stones every day when he came home, and tired of this runaround with Harry more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frida is the best beta ever, pretty much.

Liam could already hear the music streaming out of his apartment as he got off the cable car and trudged back toward his building. Harry had a habit of leaving their windows open, and despite the considerable traffic noise, Liam could still make out The Rolling Stones as he ambled up the steps to their front door. Technically Liam and Harry didn't live in an apartment building – their apartment was on the second floor of an Edwardian that had been sectioned off into flats – but it was really rather nice, wood paneled floors, new kitchen appliances, their own washer and dryer, and a walk-in shower. Liam threw his keys into the bowl in their kitchen as he walked in, and of course Harry was already sitting in their dining room, a meal laid out on the table while Wild Horses blasted from their record player.

“Liam,” Harry sighed, standing up and meeting Liam in the kitchen to engulf him in a hug. “Oh, babe, I was so worried.”

Liam pulled back from Harry, making a small warning noise as he turned around and walked through the hallway leading to their bedroom. It was just – Liam wasn't in the mood. Hadn't been all day, wasn't sure he would be for some time. Liam threw his jacket onto their bed and slowly got undressed, pretending as though he was ignoring Harry, who had of course followed Liam into the room and was hovering over the threshold nervously.

“So, you're just not going to talk to me, Liam?” Harry asked, running his fingers over his bottom lip. “I – I made you dinner.”

“I know.”

Harry whined a little, low in his throat. “And I – I texted you a lot today. You didn't – I just. You always answer, but. You didn't. I was worried.”

“Why would you be worried, Harry?” Liam inquired, trying to make his voice as cold and distant as possible as he took his pants off and threw them onto the bed, just because he knew it would piss Harry off. “We're broken up, remember?”

Harry's face was the epitome of distress. “C'mon, Liam – ”

“ _What_ , Harry?” Liam sighed, walking over to his dresser to pull out a pair of sweats.

Harry gestured a little helplessly. “I'm here now, Li – ”

“I noticed.”

Harry was floundering, sputtering and looking at Liam with wide, confused eyes. A part of Liam wanted to stop, turn around and apologize because Liam hated it when Harry was upset, but mostly Liam was tired. Tired from work, tired of commuting, tired of hearing The Rolling Stones every day when he came home, and tired of this runaround with Harry more than anything. “You've got a hickey on your neck,” Liam said, his voice choking around a sigh.

Harry was on the verge of tears. “I can explain – ”

“You don't have to explain anything to me,” Liam replied. “You dumped me last Friday.”

“Will you at least have dinner, Liam?” Harry said, sniffling a bit. “I know I fucked up, I always fuck up. But, I stopped by the butcher and got steak. I – I got home early to cook, and I was so worried – please, babe.”

“You're right, you do always fuck up,” Liam snarled. “And I'm sick of it, Harry, I really fucking am.”

“I'm sorry – ”

“I don't believe you,” Liam said, and he wasn't entirely sure where this anger was coming from. Years of being taken for granted, years of being fed up, probably. “I think you're more upset that I won't come and eat your fucking steak and pretend as though everything is peachy. Do you even know why I'm upset? Do you, Harry?”

“I just said I know I always fuck things up,” Harry exclaimed. Liam threw his hands up, completely frustrated, and pushed past Harry to get out of the bedroom. Naturally Harry followed Liam out and back into their living room. “And I – I came home with a hickey, and you're just always _so good_ , Liam – and I'm just, I'm sorry. I should've known one day you wouldn't – but I still – ”

“Well, you know what?” Liam asked, spinning around so he was facing Harry. “If you're _so_ sorry, _beg_ for it. Beg for my forgiveness.”

Harry was breathing heavily, his bottom lip trembling as he got down on his knees and shoved Liam's sweatpants around his ankles. “Like this, Liam?” Harry asked, looking up at Liam with eyes that were already dilated with arousal and also red rimmed with the threat of tears. It was fucked up. It was wrong. It was a side of Harry that Liam wasn't sure he recognized.

“Is that how you apologize these days?” Liam said, his voice unsteady as he reached down to tug his sweatpants back up. “You must have offended half of the Castro, then.” And it was cruel and uncalled for, but Liam turned around and stalked back into the kitchen, grabbing his keys out of the bowl before announcing, “I'm going for a walk.”

 

Liam wasn't used to feeling this way – so angry with Harry, and especially not for so long. Over the next few days, they entered into an awkward agreement, not exchanging loving and encouraging texts during the workday, Harry not cooking for Liam when they got home, and Liam not sleeping in their bedroom at night, instead claiming the guest bedroom. Liam vaguely wondered whether he should start working on their relationship, if he should start looking for a counselor, if he should sit down with Harry and pour out his guts the way people do at the end of films, but at the same time, Liam couldn't help but wonder what the point would be. Was there anything in this relationship worth saving? Would it really be the end of the world if Liam just let Harry go? Harry was always half out the door anyway, one hand entwined with Liam's and the other reaching out for someone else's.

Liam didn't know what to do, so he just did what he always did – went to work and gave it his best, worked out at the gym until he was exhausted, and tumbled into bed after a modest dinner. He just tried to keep himself distracted, because at this point, that was all he could do.

And on that same vein, it had been almost a week, but Liam hadn't gone back to Starbucks yet, and even though he had programmed Zayn's name and number into his phone, Liam hadn't built up the courage to call him or send him a text. The more Liam thought about it, the more Liam was convinced it was an awful idea. Yes, things for Liam were complicated, but diving into something with Zayn seemed like asking for trouble. It didn't matter how Liam felt, didn't matter that Liam had almost convinced himself that he just wanted a friend, and it certainly didn't matter that Zayn seemed to feel it too, that indescribable pull that seemed to go beyond simple attraction into this realm of longing that Liam had never encountered before – if it was fate, fate wasn't bringing Liam anything good, not if Zayn was engaged and so quick, so eager to lie about it.

Liam remembered once when he was sixteen he sat down and wrote out a basic outline of how he wanted his life to go – at the time he figured it would be more interesting than like, doing his Trig homework – and he had all the details planned, everything meticulously mapped out. He was going to go to UC Berkeley and get a business degree, land a good job in San Francisco, find an amazing apartment, and ideally be married by twenty-six, at which point he would start looking for a house. Whenever he thought back on it, Liam always marveled at how many of his goals he had already accomplished, all so young, but Liam was nothing if not ambitious, and for a while Liam was convinced that Harry could be _that_ guy, that person he would eventually marry and start a life with. But over the past few months, almost without Liam's conscious permission, Liam had become unsure. And now, Liam had to wonder what his sixteen-year-old self would have to say about Liam spending so much time at work with his finger hovering over Zayn's name, hesitating, wondering if he should just make that plunge even though this hadn't been part of the plan.

Because Liam had never wanted to be involved with a cheater. It just went against his moral center – don't lie to your partner, don't cheat, don't get involved with anyone who would do otherwise. Harry had already shattered a lot of this code, made Liam distantly wonder whether monogamy was just too much to ask for in a relationship, but Zayn – Zayn had him completely rethinking all of it, made Liam wonder if maybe it wasn't just Harry who was incapable of settling down with just one person, made Liam contemplate whether _he_ was capable of infidelity, and Liam didn't even _know_ Zayn, not at all, but – Liam was good at creating fantasies, over-thinking and over-analyzing encounters, imagining alternate universes during lunch breaks, and there was no getting around it – Liam _wanted_ Zayn. Liam didn't know Zayn, but he wanted to, and if it distracted him from everything with Harry, all the better, _right_?

 

Liam ultimately waited about a week and a half before he went back to Starbucks. Harry was already gone by the time Liam had woken up that morning. They were exchanging the barest amount of words possible these days – “Will you be able to chip in your half for the rent?” “'Course, Liam.” “Can you pick up some milk on your way home?” “Will do, Harry.” – and it just kind of sucked. Liam really did love Harry, and that was why he let Harry kick him around like this, and yeah Liam was tired and doubting their relationship and all of that, but he couldn't imagine leaving Harry, not at all. Mainly he just wanted his best friend back and he wasn't sure how the fuck he could make things work. It was just – Liam wasn't sure what his idea of personal hell would be, but maybe all of this indecision was close, and Liam wanted a pumpkin spiced latte to make him feel better. And someone who would smile at him, look at him like he was special and desirable – that would be nice. Caffeine and pretty whiskey colored eyes would make him feel fantastic.

The coffee shop was crowded when Liam made his way in, scanning the counter up front against his better judgment for a glimpse of Zayn's face. There was a guy with blonde hair manning the register and a pretty brunette was helping to churn out the drinks but beyond that, Liam couldn't see anyone else working. Liam choked back his disappointment and played on his phone until he approached the front of the line, ordering his latte and collapsing into a chair until his drink was ready. He really wanted to cry for some bizarre reason – “Stop overreacting,” he told himself firmly as he picked up his drink and tried to forget about how Zayn told Liam he'd get him free muffins – so he shoved down his emotions and shouldered his way out the door and down the block to his office.

 

That night, Liam came home and found Harry sitting around in his boxers in the living room, blasting the last song from Arctic Monkeys' Favourite Worst Nightmare on their record player while he drank out of a bottle of Jack Daniels Black Label.

“Fuck today,” Liam mumbled as he confiscated the whiskey bottle from Harry and took it into the kitchen, hiding it below the sink.

“Aw, c'mon, Li!” Harry called, falling off the couch as he tried to follow Liam and his dear bottle of Jack. “It's Friday, lemme just have a few shots.”

“You're wasted,” Liam sighed. “Here, let's get you some water, all right, babe?” He grabbed a cup and filled it up with water from the tap before walking back into the living room, propping Harry up against the couch and pressing the water into Harry's hands. Liam pushed Harry's hair back from where it had stuck against his forehead, and Harry was warm, pliant, cheeks flushed the way he got when he had a fever. Harry leaned into Liam's touch as their cat padded into the living room, looking at both of them with disdain before hopping onto his favorite ledge by the window.

“Don't leave me, Liam,” Harry mumbled as he put the cup up to his lips.

“I'm right here, Harry.”

“No,” Harry replied petulantly. “Don't leave me. Don't – I'm so sorry. I'll – I'm gonna make it up to you this time.”

Liam sighed again before sitting down next to Harry on the floor. “How are you gonna do that, Harry?”

“Tell you when I'm not drunk,” Harry said after a brief moment of consideration. “But you'll see. Just gimme the chance, I'll stop being such a prick.”

Liam hummed and made Harry finish the cup of water before depositing him on their bed. Liam hesitated in the doorway, fighting against the impulse to cuddle up behind Harry and take care of him through the night, before walking back into the living room and grabbing his cell phone, scrolling down to the last name in his address book and punching out a text message – “Hullo this is Liam. Went 2 Starbuckssss today u wrnt therrre I rlly wanted a muffin :( ”

Liam put his phone down on the cushion next to him, turned the television on, and resolutely did not wait for a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where's Zayn?
> 
> I'm going to try and update this weekly - I've finally gotten into a groove I rather like with this story. From here on out, the angst will amplify by ten.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was always easier to avoid things than to try and sort it all out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal thanks to Frida for always reading over my fics and yelling at me. And thanks to all of you for reading and leaving me such nice comments.
> 
> 1D Day kind of messed up my posting schedule a bit, but I was inspired by all of the Ziam, so sue me.

Liam woke up on the couch with an awful crick in his neck and achy limbs. He groaned a bit as he got up and stumbled to the hall cabinet, grabbing a heating pad and some spare pillows before making his way back to the living room, collapsing upon his traitorous couch and flicking on the television. It was still really early, nothing on but infomercials and early morning news broadcasts, and while Liam attempted to ignore Harry's loud snores coming from the bedroom, he cursed at himself a bit for managing to wake up at 5 AM even on the weekend.

Which was, of course, when his phone blinked at him with a notification, alerting him to an unread text message that had arrived a few minutes ago.

From Zayn.

Liam had almost forgotten that he had texted Zayn the night before – it had been such an impulsive decision and Liam had pretty much fallen asleep right after. Regardless, Liam scooped his phone up, eyes scanning the message greedily – “Oh hey babes! Sorry for getting back 2 ya so late, but im glad u finally got round to textin me, was startin 2 get worried. Hope u have an amazin day =)”

Zayn had responded. At five something in the morning. When Liam also just happened to be awake.

Liam put the phone back on the coffee table and willed himself to fall back asleep.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Liam gave in and punched out a quick text message in response, which led to another, and then a few more, which led to the decision to meet up for brunch the next morning. Liam was finally able to drift back to sleep with a smile on his face.

 

Liam woke up again around noon to the clatter of pots and pans. Liam turned over on the couch and looked up blearily at the source of the commotion in the kitchen where Harry was standing about in his underwear looking apologetic.

“Didn't mean to wake you,” Harry said, placing one of the pans delicately on top of their stove. “Do you want something to eat?

Liam shrugged. “Um. You don't have to cook for me.”

“I want to,” Harry replied stubbornly. “I've got some bacon, yeah?”

Liam smiled a bit shyly. “Bacon and eggs would be nice.”

Harry grinned, setting to work and bustling about the kitchen. “I was thinking, maybe we could go see a movie tonight, too.”

“Harry – ”

“Whatever you want to see,” Harry continued. It was strange – it was obvious that Harry was doing that thing again, tone light, pretending as though everything was all right, when the only reason he was being so nice and considerate was because he felt guilty – _as he should_ , Liam's brain made sure to add. Liam didn't quite know what to make of it, didn't know if he should take advantage of the situation or not. Liam wasn't even sure if he was actually trying to intentionally punish Harry – he was just confused and hurt and loved Harry so fucking much that he wasn't capable of rational thought. “I just want to spend the weekend with you, Li.”

“I'm with you all the time, Harry.”

Harry stopped briefly, hands stilling where they were pulling the bacon out of the refrigerator. “You know what I mean, Liam.”

“Well, then let's stop dancing around what's really going on, yeah?” Liam replied, gathering the comforter around himself and getting up from the couch to slouch on one of the chairs in the kitchen.

Harry sighed and began slowly lowering strips of bacon into the skillet, avoiding Liam's eyes. “Every time I've tried to talk to you about it you've shut me down.”

“Because I was angry,” Liam stated. “I'm _still_ angry. Bacon and a movie isn't going to make me any less angry.”

“I'm _trying_!” Harry whined.

“No, you're just doing all of the same shit you used to do before!” Liam exclaimed. “But what good is bacon when my heart is fucking broken?”

Harry looked up at Liam, his face stricken. “Don't say things like – ”

“Like _what_?” Liam interrupted. He was suddenly tired again, wanted to curl up in a ball on the couch, snuggled up with his cat, and watch old cartoons and go to sleep. “Like the truth?”

“I'm just – Liam, you never said anything before and I never would've done this if I had known it would make you so upset!”

“I know!” Liam groaned, frustrated with Harry, and this conversation, and himself, more than anything. No wonder he'd shut Harry down every time he had come over to sit beside Liam on the couch, eyes pleading, lips already set with an apology. It was always easier to avoid things than to try and sort it all out. “I know, this is my fault as much as yours.”

Harry sniffled a bit and looked at Liam with watery eyes. “Liam, just let me fix this. Please. I'd – I will do anything. Just name it, and I'll do it, babe.”

Liam swallowed and watched Harry crack some eggs into a pan. “Just. Give me some time, okay, Harry? That's all I wanted to say. Give me some time and – and don't be mad at me.”

Harry looked up, his face screwed up in bewilderment. “What – ?”

“Just, don't be mad,” Liam repeated and when he turned away from Harry's searching gaze, the only thing Liam could think about was his plan to meet up with Zayn the next day. Harry scanned Liam's countenance and nodded distantly to himself before turning back to breakfast.

 

Harry insisted on going out to the movies, but Liam couldn't find it in himself to get excited about the idea, told Harry that he'd rather lay about on the couch all day, maybe watch a bit of Doctor Who, if Harry was up for it. Harry sat through about half an episode with Liam before he got up and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He came out an hour later, smelling of expensive cologne, dressed in skin tight jeans and a plaid shirt that he had unbuttoned halfway, exposing tattooed collarbones. He grabbed his keys out the bowl in the kitchen and doubled back to kiss Liam on the cheek. “I'll be late, so don't stay up and wait for me, all right?”

Liam tried not to roll his eyes as the record player in his brain started up with The Call, instead turning to Harry and putting on the largest, most insincere smile he could muster. “I'll be fine here, Harry. I'll see you in the morning.”

Harry nodded, seemingly a bit confused, but he turned and made his way out the apartment regardless.

Liam turned back to the Doctor and tried not to wonder when his whole life became a giant game of charades. If Liam pulled out his phone and punched out a particularly flirty text to Zayn, promising Zayn a good time tomorrow, Harry never needed to know.

 

Liam fell asleep on the couch again that night, but woke up around 2 AM, plagued by nightmares that he couldn't really follow the plot of, waking up and only remembering the lingering sense of unease. He got up, cracked his back, and went looking for his cat, Nicholas, who he ultimately found sitting in their – or Harry's – bedroom, green eyes overlooking the dimly lit street below. Liam reached out to pet Nicholas, who leaned into the touch. “You'd never hurt me like this, huh, Nicholas?” Liam murmured, scratching behind Nicholas' ears. Nicholas purred softly and Liam smiled a bit, scooping the cat into his arms and walking into his guest bedroom. Liam let Nicholas down on the bed, where he padded about a bit before settling on one of the pillows. Liam watched his cat with a small smile before sighing and climbing into bed himself, wondering whether Harry was even going to bother to come home tonight, and whether it was Liam's fault if he didn't.

 

Liam woke up again around nine and got out of bed, padding around the apartment barefoot to see whether Harry had come in sometime late the night before. He hadn't, and Liam choked down what little disappointment he was still capable of harboring at this point before opening up a can of cat food for Nicholas and hopping into the shower, turning the water on punishingly hot and standing with his head bowed underneath the spray. When he was finished washing up, he felt mildly better, and he threw on a black button-down shirt (he wasn't sure if it was even his, or Harry's) and a pair of blue jeans and his favorite Jay's. Liam squashed on a Giant's snapback for good measure – Harry always made a face when Liam wore his hats, complained that Liam's hair was too nice for him to hide it all the time, although it was an entirely different matter when they were in the bedroom – and checked himself out in the mirror, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and pouting a bit at his reflection. He looked fucking good, he was fine with thinking it – Harry kind of always wanted Liam to look a certain way when they were out together, wanted Liam to play the part of the polished businessman to Harry's budding fashion designer, which like, yeah Liam _was_ in the business world, but only from 9 to 5, Monday through Friday, and he didn't necessarily want to look that way all the fucking time.

But here Liam was again, thinking about Harry when he was about to go hang out with someone else.

Liam groaned and leaned against the door frame, banging his head against it dully and only stopping when he heard a soft meow from behind him. Nicholas was staring at Liam, looking distinctly unimpressed. Liam couldn't even have a moment without his fucking cat judging him.

“Yeah, yeah, I'll get going then,” Liam muttered and he scooped up his keys, cell phone, wallet, and his favorite jacket and made his way out, only stopping briefly on his trek to say hello to the older couple who lived next door.

Liam opted to walk down to the restaurant he was meeting Zayn at instead of taking the bus. He was only walking to the Mission, and it was a gorgeous day outside, a bit crisp since Liam's jacket was rather thin, but it was nice seeing all of the people out, walking to bus stops, corner stores, parks, and restaurants. It gave Liam time to stop freaking out about Harry, time for him to start daydreaming about what this – what even was _this_? Two guys just hanging out? Or a date? Liam wasn't even sure if he was allowed to hope for the latter. Should Liam have any expectations? Was it wise to get so excited about another man?

Liam was able to get to 19th Street in about twenty minutes, and he loitered outside for a bit, punching out a text to Zayn to let him know that Liam was already there and trying not to frown when he noticed that there was nothing from Harry. Fucking typical.

Liam was still frowning down at his phone when he felt a light tap on his arm. Looking up, his face brightened immediately at the sight of Zayn – God, was it possible for someone to get even better looking in a few weeks? Zayn wasn't wearing anything particularly fancy – a leather jacket thrown over a Drake T-shirt, jeans, and Converse – but he was just effortlessly gorgeous, especially this close up, without the barrier of a coffee counter between them, and Liam let himself take it all in – Zayn's smooth, tanned skin, the intoxicating hazel of his eyes, the facial hair over his cheeks and chin.

Liam briefly, almost traitorously, thought that it was stupid to worry about Harry when he could have someone as beautiful as _this_.

“Hey,” Liam said a bit dumbly.

“Hey yourself,” Zayn replied, pulling Liam into a hug. “Wanna get inside?”

“Yeah,” Liam nodded. Zayn smiled at him and Liam felt like the air was punched out of his lungs. He was just – Zayn was unrealistically beautiful, and yet he was here with Liam when Liam was a fucking emotionally constipated mess – it was quite a lot to process.

Liam resolved to stop thinking.

 

The waitress placed them at a table by the window and they made their way through almost all of the usual topics – the weather, how long it took them to get to the restaurant, how glad both of them were that they didn't have cars because traffic and parking were always so difficult – before meandering through to the more interesting points of conversation.

“I'm twenty-five but I'm still in school,” Zayn explained as they both sipped on drinks and waited for their food to arrive. “I had gotten into Berkeley, free ride and everything, which is how I ended up in the Bay Area, but I really fucking hated it and I dropped out. I thought about starting up again somewhere else but I ended up just kinda working for a few years. I'm at SF State now, and people are just kinda more chill, you know?”

Liam nodded a bit, taking a large gulp of water. “Yeah, I went to Berkeley, but I was kind of so focused on my grades, and my frat, and then my boyfriend, that I didn't really have a good time when I was there.”

“Eh, it's stupid to expect that college is gonna be the best four years of you life,” Zayn said, licking his lips and watching Liam a bit predatorily. “You never know who you're gonna meet after graduation, right?”

“Right,” Liam agreed distantly before clearing his throat. “So how do you like working at Starbucks?”

Zayn shrugged and leaned forward in his chair a bit. “I hate it, obviously. It's shit having to work anywhere that you have to deal with the public.” Zayn placed his hand down on the table and ran his fingers over Liam's before pulling away and leaning back in his seat. “But it's got its perks.”

Liam blushed, recognizing that statement for the obvious come-on that it was and pulling his hands into his lap nervously. “You weren't there last time I went in.”

Zayn smirked. “I know, you told me. I'm glad you kept an eye out for me, though. But I've been sick off and on. I'll make it up for you next time.”

“You could make it up to me now.”

Zayn grinned. “Yeah, I definitely could.”

 

Liam didn't ask about Zayn's fiancee throughout the whole meal. Maybe the less he knew, the less guilt he would feel about it all.

 

After they were done eating, Zayn grabbed Liam's hand, sliding his fingers through Liam's and pressing their palms together, and they walked up to Valencia, meandering through stores and making fun of all the overpriced shit, smiling at each other shyly any time their shoulders brushed. It was all very cute and _easy_ and Liam didn't quite know what to do with himself, what he was allowed to do, what he was comfortable with doing. A part of him wanted to pull Zayn in close, glide his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Zayn's neck and lean in, swallowing down the soft sighs that Liam could imagine Zayn making, but another part of Liam was terrified of what he was feeling, terrified of what this meant in general. Liam always took things slow, always wanted to guarantee he was on sure footing whenever his emotions were involved, and nothing about this current situation was solid, was safe.

It was one thing to be reckless, it was a whole other thing to be stupid.

Zayn was pulling Liam into Therapy and energetically pointing out jackets for Liam to try on when Liam's cell phone started to vibrate in his pocket. Liam pulled out his iPhone and frowned down at the picture of Harry that was flashing up at him. Liam put the phone back in his pocket and shook his head at the inquisitive expression on Zayn's face.

“It's – it's no one,” Liam explained.

“No one or your boyfriend?”

Liam shrugged as his phone stopped vibrating only to start up again.

“Just turn it off,” Zayn suggested. “Turn it off and say that you were at some movie he didn't want to go see with you.”

Liam pulled his phone out and tried not to contemplate how easy it was for Zayn to come up with that lie, instead sliding his finger across the screen and accepting the call with a soft, “Hello?”

“Liam?” Harry said his name like a sigh. “I just got home and you weren't here – where are you?”

“I'm with a friend shopping on Valencia,” Liam said, ignoring the way Zayn rolled his eyes and continued to search through the racks of clothes.

“A friend?” Harry repeated. “Are you with Louis?”

“No, I'm not with Louis.”

“Wait, so who are you with?”

Liam could feel the anger start to slowly build up inside of him, could feel the thrum of it in his fingertips. “What does it even matter, Harry?”

“I just want to know who you're with – ”

“I have other fucking friends, God. It doesn't even matter, Harry – ”

“What? Of course it fucking matters – ”

“Well, who were you with last night, then?” Liam asked, turning away from Zayn and walking to the front of the store. “Why is it that you only _just_ came back home?” Harry sputtered a bit and Liam added, a little cruelly, “Doesn't feel so good when you actually have to answer questions, huh?”

“I tried to talk to you about it, Liam – ”

“Oh, don't you dare turn this shit around on me,” Liam retorted, ignoring the curious looks of some of the other shoppers in the store. “I was actually having a good time this morning and I'm not going to have you ruin it.” A hand came to rest on Liam's shoulder and Liam found himself a bit startled at the sensation, calming down only when he saw it was Zayn.

“Hang up, Liam,” Zayn said, his voice low and soothing. “Whatever he's got to say is bullshit – just hang up.”

“Liam, who the fuck is that?” Harry's voice bellowed and Liam immediately took Zayn's advice and hung up, turning his phone off and fixing Zayn with an apologetic expression.

“I'm sorry – I just can't lie to him – ”

“You don't have to explain anything to me,” Zayn mumbled, grabbing Liam's hand again and guiding him out of the store. “I'm not your boyfriend.”

Liam pulled on Zayn's hand, spinning Zayn around to face him. Without even consciously thinking about it, Liam pulled Zayn in and kissed him, a soft, chaste press of lips. “I don't want to – I can't drag you into this thing with Harry,” Liam said, muttering it almost against Zayn's mouth. “It wouldn't be fair to you, making you into a rebound, using you just because I'm upset with him.”

“I know,” Zayn whispered, before glancing up, cupping his hands around Liam's jaw and kissing him back. If Liam's kiss was chaste, Zayn's was anything but, Zayn backing Liam against some random storefront and using the moment where Liam's back hit the wall as an opportunity to burrow his tongue into Liam's mouth – not that Liam minded, finally reaching up to feel how soft Zayn's hair was, tasting french toast and apple cider on Zayn's tongue, aligning himself against Zayn's solid form and immediately forgetting everything he had just said about Zayn not being a rebound, about not using Zayn to get over Harry, forgetting what it was like to have morals or to wait before diving into something, because this was heady, the feel of Zayn against him was mesmerizing, the taste of him was thrilling – and Liam had gleaned all of this just from a bit of kissing.

Zayn finally leaned back, and he was beautiful even like this, lips swollen and his hair on its way to being an absolute mess, but he nodded firmly. “Yeah, no, I completely understand. I'm not going to pressure you into anything you're uncomfortable with.”

“Huh?” Liam asked weakly. “What?”

“You should go work things out with your boyfriend.”

“No,” Liam replied a bit petulantly, running his finger down the back of Zayn's ear. “There's nothing to work out with him.”

“You're just mad, yeah?” Zayn said. “And I mean – believe me, I definitely want to capitalize on how upset you are with him. You're really fucking hot, Liam. But there's no point in it if you're going to regret it.” Zayn kissed Liam on the cheek and backed up a few steps. “I had a great time, we should definitely hang out again. Call me, all right?” Zayn crowded in again with another quick kiss, but then he turned to walk down the street toward the Bart station, pulling a cigarette out of nowhere and lighting it, leaving nothing but the smell of tobacco smoke and a confused Liam in his wake.

Liam had never had an extensive vocabulary, had never really known what the word “bereft” meant, but as he stood alone outside on the street, wondering if he would be better off following Zayn or going home to Harry, he was pretty sure he had a damn good idea.  


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the days that followed it was easy to slip into the same uneasy truce of the previous weeks. Liam tried to pretend as though it wasn't completely fucking with his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued and eternal thanks to Frida for reading this over and letting me bounce ideas off of her. She is amazing and you should all thank her for being a huge enabler. 
> 
> I also want to thank [wowfairy13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wowfairy13/pseuds/wowfairy13) for her comment about wanting to explore Harry's POV. That simple comment has completely reshaped the trajectory of this story, so thank you!

Liam didn't want to go home, so he called his best friend, Louis Tomlinson, and took the 22 up to Pacific Heights. Liam always felt vaguely uncomfortable walking around in this neighborhood, felt distinctly out of place among the multimillion dollar houses, private schools, and designer boutiques featuring clothing that cost as much as his rent. And it wasn't like Liam was poor or struggling – far from it. It was just, well – Louis made a _lot_ of money, even as far as Liam's business school friends went, working at Google and essentially serving as the face of the new San Francisco – young, tech-savvy, and loaded. To top it all off, Louis' girlfriend, Eleanor, also worked at Google, doing something Communications-related. Unlike Louis, who had grown up in a boring middle class suburb in Southern California, same as Liam, Eleanor had come from money and grew up in Pac Heights herself, attending Sacred Heart before getting accepted at Stanford. Together Eleanor and Louis were a bit of a power couple, living blocks away from Eleanor's family in a fairly spacious apartment off of California. It didn't take long for Liam to get to their neighborhood, hopping off the Muni line and walking to the apartment. Louis buzzed him up and Liam made the familiar trek to their third floor flat.

Liam had met Louis during college, although they liked to tell people that they had actually been friends for far longer than that. People tended to believe it – Liam was so comfortable with Louis it felt like they had been friends for ages. Liam and Louis had actually met through their fraternity, when Liam was a freshman and Louis was already a brother. Early on, Louis apparently thought that Liam was exceptionally dull and he proceeded to make a few comments to some of the other brothers that Liam shouldn't make it through the rushing process. Word had gotten back to Liam and Liam confronted Louis about it, much to everyone's surprise. Strangely enough, that argument won Louis over, as well as the other brothers, and Liam had been accepted into the frat without any other issues. Louis then seemed to want to make it up to Liam by hanging around _all the time_. Liam found himself wanting to make Louis proud, not wanting Louis to go back on his decision to be friendly, so he tended to go along with all of Louis' shenanigans and pranks. They became thick as thieves, and when Liam started hanging out with Harry, it was Louis who encouraged Liam to finally “Get on with it and go out with him, God, Liam.”

Recently, however, Louis' verdict had changed quite a bit. Louis had gone from Harry's number one fan to a firm supporter of the idea that Liam needed to dump Harry. Louis couldn't even pretend to be on board with the relationship anymore, not even when he was in the same room as Harry – he had become cold and increasingly hostile toward Harry in recent months, and Liam wasn't entirely sure why. Harry acted as though it didn't bother him. Liam tried to do the same.

A part of Liam actually liked it a bit – how protective Louis was of Liam, how unwilling he was to let Harry's shit behavior slide. He tried not to think about why so much.

Louis had left his door slightly ajar, so Liam walked straight in, locking up behind him. Louis' apartment had a long entryway that branched out to an airy kitchen and dining room on one side, and the master bedroom, bathroom, and small guest room off to the other. Beyond the dining room was the living room and a small balcony overlooking the street below. Liam made his way to the living room, where Louis was sprawled out on the couch, his laptop balanced on his knees.

“Did you lock up behind you?” Louis asked, typing away furiously.

“'Course. Was this a bad time to come over? Are you working?”

“Nah,” Louis replied, his eyes still firmly locked on his screen. “Just need to send off this email and then you will have my full attention.”

Liam nodded distantly and sat at the edge of the couch besides Louis, humming appreciatively once he noticed the Star Wars marathon on the television. Louis finished typing with a flourish, smirking at himself and shutting the lid of his laptop before turning to Liam.

“Is Eleanor in?”

“Nah,” Louis answered, poking a socked toe at Liam's leg. “She went to brunch with her mom and then I think they're shopping or something. Why? What's up?”

Liam sighed, leaning his head against the couch and letting himself sink into the feeling of the leather upholstery. “Just – I don't even know where to start, Louis.”

Louis frowned, sitting up a bit to look at Liam better. “Is this about Harry?”

Liam chuckled but it was without any amusement. “Not really, but. I mean. Isn't it always?”

“Dump him,” Louis snarled. “You can afford that apartment without him – I know you can, stop making that face. You don't have any excuse to cling to that asshole.”

“You guys used to be such great friends – ”

“Yeah, back when he wasn't cheating on you every fucking weekend,” Louis interrupted. “You deserve better. You've got to see that, Liam. You deserve someone who looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.”

Liam's mind flashed to Zayn's face and Liam clung to the image, to the sight of Zayn's smile, the feel of Zayn's hands on his waist. “But that's the other thing, Louis.”

Louis' frown deepened. “What happened?”

Liam ran his fingers over his face. “I think – I don't know. But, I met someone. Someone else.”

Louis shrugged, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. “Is this a problem?”

Liam groaned, frustrated with the fact that he could never make words fit together in a way that felt _right_. “Louis, this is wrong.”

Louis scooted closer to Liam, grabbing Liam's hands and silently commanding for Liam's eyes to meet his. “Liam, help me out here. How is this wrong?”

“I can't just – see other people – ”

“Yes, you can,” Louis disagreed. “Last I checked, you and Harry aren't even together right now.”

“But – how does it make me any better?”

“That's not a question you ever need to ask,” Louis answered fiercely. “You went home to him every night, and Harry only did when it was convenient. Did you not hear me earlier? You deserve someone who will make you happy. All of this bullshit with Harry – you can't keep living like this. You don't deserve it.”

“He called me,” Liam continued. “Harry. He called me when I was with this other guy and I picked up. I'm so fucking _stupid_ , Louis. I can't just go home now – ”

“That place is yours. It's in your name, you pay most of the rent. If anyone should feel unwelcome there, it's Harry.”

Liam groaned and Louis made a small noise, collecting Liam in his arms. “Why is this all so fucked up, Louis?”

“It doesn't need to be,” Louis replied gently. “We'll make it all right, okay?”

Liam almost believed him.

 

Eventually, Liam went home, but not before spending dinner with Louis and Eleanor first. Liam let himself into the apartment, and Harry greeted him, but they didn't talk beyond that. In the days that followed it was easy to slip into the same uneasy truce of the previous weeks. Liam tried to pretend as though it wasn't completely fucking with his head.

 

Liam managed to hold off from going to Starbucks until that next Thursday. He had still been texting Zayn, of course, but it was hard – Liam didn't really know what to talk to Zayn about most of the time. There wasn't anything exciting going on in his life, beyond the small thrill that went up his spine every time Zayn's name popped up on his phone, and it seemed like all of his stories and experiences were somehow tainted with Harry's presence. Harry Styles continued to ruin everything in Liam's life, it looked like.

And Liam was trying really hard not to be down on himself, but Zayn was just so cool and beautiful and smart and Liam couldn't help but wonder what Zayn saw in him, that was all.

Liam went into the coffee shop and stood in the too-long line. Zayn was working the register and he lit up at the sight of Liam. “Hiya, babes,” Zayn said in greeting. “What do you want today?”

“Can I try the gingerbread latte?” Liam asked.

“Want a muffin, too?” Liam nodded, and true to word, Zayn only rung Liam up for the latte before pointing for one of his coworkers to take over the register.

“What were you going to do tonight?” Zayn asked as he grabbed a muffin out of the case and set about making Liam's drink.

Liam shrugged. “I didn't have anything planned.”

“Not for Thirsty Thursday?” Zayn pressed, waggling his eyebrows. Liam laughed and shook his head. “Well, I've got class until seven, but maybe we can hang out for a bit? Get some drinks?”

“You don't have anywhere you have to be?” Liam clarified. The real question hung there between them: “Your fiancee won't think anything of it?” Liam still hadn't asked about her outright, but Zayn had mentioned her a few times during their texting sessions, enough that Liam knew that her name was Perrie and they apparently had a shit load of pets.

Zayn shrugged. “Nowhere I'd rather be than with you, to be honest,” Zayn replied, handing over Liam's latte and muffin. “I'll call you once I'm done?”

Liam smiled shyly. “Yeah, sure.”

 

Liam left work at his usual time, took the train back home and studiously ignored Harry while he showered and changed into a T-shirt and jeans. He grabbed an Obey snapback from the back of his closet and pulled on a pair of his favorite Nike's before heading back into the living room to look for his fucking wallet. Harry, who was sitting with the cat while watching a rerun of Project Runway, watched Liam fuss around a bit, a cold expression on his face.

“You left your wallet on the dining room table,” Harry finally mumbled. Liam straightened up and walked over to check.

“Thanks,” Liam said a bit awkwardly, stuffing the wallet into his pocket.

“You look nice,” Harry continued, scratching behind Nicholas' ears. “Are you going out with the guy I heard on the phone the other day?”

Liam scuffed his foot on the ground. “Yes.”

“Are you fucking him, then?”

Liam bit the inside of his mouth. Harry had _no fucking right_ – not with what kind of shit he pulled. “You're a dick, Harry.”

Harry shrugged, and Liam couldn't tell if it was a “Whatever” or “You like it” kind of shrug, and turned back to the television. Liam tried not to slam the door on his way out, but he failed.

 

Liam didn't usually drink when he was upset because he knew that it didn't lead to good things. But he got to Last Call a bit before Zayn and he was upset and wanted a beer, damn it, so he ordered one.

Zayn wouldn't mind.

 

Zayn didn't mind and they had a few beers and talked and had a few more beers and made out a bit and drank some more. It was nice, Liam forgot why he was even upset.

“Let's go back to my place,” Liam mumbled half into Zayn's mouth, because he was drunk and maybe a little horny and definitely not thinking about things like his boyfriend or Zayn's fiancee or why anyone ever needed to take it slow when you could take it _right now_. Zayn smiled, slow and predatory, and let Liam pay the tab, let Liam drag him out, let Liam take him home.

 

Liam would blame it on being so drunk, later. Forgetting that Harry might still be home watching the Project Runway marathon, sulking because Liam wasn't playing by their usual script, Harry the one sitting at home pretending as though everything wasn't hurting while Liam was the one out, living it up. Liam and Zayn arrived at the apartment, Liam pushing the door open and gesturing for Zayn to go in first. Zayn meandered past the kitchen and through to the living room while Liam threw his keys in the bowl and walked further into the kitchen, reaching into the refrigerator and grabbing the water bottle he liked to keep in there.

“You didn't say your boyfriend was the infamous Harry Styles,” Zayn called. Liam frowned and placed his water bottle on the counter before walking back through to the living room, where Zayn was leaning against the wall and leering at Harry. “I'm truly honored to be the other woman, now.”

“Shut up,” Harry snarled, standing up from his place on the couch. “Shut up, Zayn, and get the fuck out of my house.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow, still smirking, and Liam darted a glance between the two of them. How did – they _knew_ each other? “I'm missing something,” Liam announced.

“ _Zayn_ is the guy you're seeing?” Harry sputtered, turning to Liam. “Fucking seriously? I would've preferred it if you were fucking Louis.”

“Rude,” Zayn retorted, his jaw clenching. “Considering everything, you definitely don't have room to judge.”

“Are either of you going to explain what the fuck is happening here?” Liam demanded. The room went eerily quiet, Zayn looking distinctly uncomfortable, staring down at his shoes, while Harry ran his fingers through his hair and opened and closed his mouth wordlessly.

“Zayn and I – “ Harry started off awkwardly. “We – we had a _thing_ , once.”

“Only once?” Zayn taunted, eyes snapping up from the ground to glare at Harry once more. “Not for one and a half years, off and on? Always on the weekends, though, because you worked weekdays in Los Angeles, right?”

Harry looked stricken. “Don't believe _anything_ he says, Liam – ”

“Yeah, you worked in LA,” Zayn continued, his voice becoming nastier, rougher with every word. “And you pampered me, took me out all the time, never the same spot twice, and it was easy – relationships where you only see someone twice a week tend to be, but – then one night, we were out at Bootie, and your friend bumped into you, yelled at you a bit because you had your hand down the back of my pants, and asked where _your boyfriend_ was.”

Liam could easily imagine it – Harry and Zayn cuddled up on the second floor of the nightclub, leaning over the bannister while Harry pulled Zayn impossibly closer, legs slotting together, Zayn attacking Harry's neck while Harry slipped his hands past the fabric of Zayn's top and underneath, touching sweaty skin, and then someone – Louis, Liam's brain easily supplied – calling out Harry's name, asking nastily, “Who is this then, Harry? Does your boyfriend know where you are right now?” and Zayn's face crumpling with the realization that he was being had.

And now that Liam thought harder on it, he didn't even have to ask to know that it was Louis who stumbled upon the two of them. And Liam was glad that Louis had never told him, not when Louis had been trying to spare him this crushing sense of humiliation.

Liam turned to look at Harry. “When?” Liam whispered.

“Liam – ”

“Fuck, Harry, just tell me!”

Harry's face crumpled and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Zayn had to answer for him. “I ended it about six months ago.”

Liam sighed and leaned against the wall. He felt all out of sorts. “I think,” Liam started, licking his lips. “I think I'm just gonna go to bed. I feel – I need to sleep.”

Zayn walked over and rubbed Liam's arm, his face softening when he took in Liam's expression. “Babe, oh my God, I'm so sorry. I didn't – I just saw him, and I got so angry – ”

“No, no, it's fine,” Liam said, gently pulling himself out of Zayn's grasp. “Let me just go to bed now, all right?”

“Can I stay and cuddle with you a bit?” Zayn asked, staring at Liam a bit despondently. “Nothing you wouldn't feel uncomfortable with.”

“I – maybe another time?”

Zayn looked a bit crushed, but also like he understood. “I'll just – I'll see myself out.”

“Yeah, get the fuck out,” Harry yelled from the couch.

Zayn snarled in Harry's direction but leaned in against Liam, cupping Liam's face in his hands and kissing him chastely. “I'm so sorry, Liam, but I'll make it up to you a thousand times over.”

“Go home to your fiancee,” Liam said, and he knew the moment that it was out of his mouth that it was a low blow, petty and unnecessary when Liam hadn't mentioned her not once before. Liam _knew_ that, but – he was hurt. He was so upset, so embarrassed, so torn up with the realization that Harry had been even more fucked up than he had realized and Zayn – Zayn had helped enable that, however unwittingly. And it wasn't like Zayn wasn't doing the same shit, even now – it was all too much to take in. Zayn nodded, swallowing down something – his pride, maybe – and turning out of the apartment, closing the door with a soft snick behind him. Liam resolutely did not watch him leave.

“Get all of your shit out of here as soon as possible, please,” Liam said, staring at the ground so that his voice would remain calm, polite even. “I can't stand to even look at you right now.”

“Liam – ”

“No, fuck you,” Liam cursed as a sob racked through his frame. “How could you do this to me, Harry? I feel so fucking _stupid_. You ruin everything – I can't have _anything_ around you, can I?”

Harry stood up and walked over to Liam, pulling Liam into his arms like he could possibly be a comfort in a moment like this. “No, Liam, please – I love you so much.”

Liam shoved Harry away and Harry stumbled into the wall. Normally Liam would've felt bad, he had a strict “No Hurting Harry” policy, but right now, Liam felt blinded by this betrayal. “Go pack yourself a bag,” Liam somehow choked out. “You can come back for the rest of your stuff later. I don't want to talk it out this time. I'm done.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone in this chapter is lying their ass off.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Friday and Liam was smashed, again. He wondered what it said about – whatever this was – that Liam tended to be drunk whenever he was hanging out with Zayn outside of the confines of their Starbucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had wanted to get this chapter up on Sunday as a kind of late Thanksgiving present. That clearly did not happen.
> 
> Thanks again to Frida for reading this over and admitting that she's only my beta for the shoutouts, and thanks to all of you for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. It does such good for my ego. I love you all.

It was the most talking Harry and Liam had done in ages – discussing how Harry would move out of the apartment. Figuring out all the logistics.

Granted, most of the talking was spent on Harry trying to win Liam back. Harry was wasting his breath. And his money, in between all of the nice home cooked meals and new clothes. Isn't this what Zayn said Harry did for him – pamper him? Did Harry use the same charm on both of them, spin the same lies? When Harry would come back after one of their breaks, smelling of cologne and sex, leaning over Liam with lips promising redemption, change, was Liam really smelling Zayn? God, Liam felt so _played_.

It was almost funny, kind of, how Harry was paying more attention to Liam than he had in – what, months? Two years? Liam had made the mistake of saying it, once. In between Harry's desperate tears, because Harry knew how much Liam hated seeing him cry, how Liam would do anything to make Harry feel better. Well, not now, not anymore. Liam had just blurted it out, “This is the most you've done for me in two years.” The implication hung between them, heavy, a condemnation, and Harry sunk even further into himself, gathering Nicholas into his arms.

“You know, you really shouldn't believe anything Zayn says,” Harry said, his body quaking with barely contained anger. “I fucked up, I get that. I really fucking do. And I will make it up to you, I will. A thousand times over. But – you can't. You can't just believe _him_ , you don't _know_ him.”

“And I know you?' Liam countered. “The Harry I met and fell in love with would've never done this to me.”

Harry nodded. “I can't – there aren't words – ”

“Then why are you talking?”

Harry gulped down his response and turned, Nicholas still in his arms, slinking off to the guest bedroom, where Liam knew Harry had tucked a bottle of Grey Goose away in the top drawer. They hadn't negotiated that Harry would switch with Liam, sleeping in the guest room or on the couch while Liam reclaimed the master. Liam assumed Harry thought it a part of his self-inflicted punishment. Liam didn't want to punish Harry – he just wanted him gone, wanted to be able to sit in the apartment without Harry coming over and trying to explain, not when there wasn't anything left to rehash, to figure out.

Liam didn't let himself feel bad. He couldn't. So he went to the gym. He worked longer hours at work. He resolutely ignored Zayn's phone calls and texts – not like he didn't want to talk to Zayn because he _did_ , so badly, just that he wasn't ready, not yet. He refused to let Harry bribe his way to forgiveness. Liam simply put one foot in front of the other and reminded himself to breathe.

  
  


Liam wanted to avoid Zayn forever, but he couldn't. He honestly couldn't. So he went to Starbucks one day before work, smiled shyly at Zayn over the counter like he always did and accepted the small brown bag stuffed with several unpaid for muffins. Harry wasn't the only one trying to buy his forgiveness, then.

“Can I see you?” Liam asked. “Around lunch?”

Zayn shrugged. He looked a bit worse for wear, bags under his eyes and he was wearing his hair without any product or styling. It should've made him less attractive. Should've, but Liam liked how soft and vulnerable Zayn looked like this. “Want to interrogate me and my intentions, then?”

Liam pulled a face. “Don't be stupid. I just – I kind of miss you, all right?”

Zayn pursed his lips and ran shaky fingers through his hair. “Which is why you've been answering all of my calls, obviously. But yeah. You know where I'll be.”

“Please don't do this,” Liam muttered. “I've already got him trying to guilt trip me into forgiving him. So, if you're so sure that you haven't done anything wrong, act like it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn replied distantly. “I've gotta get back to work. I'll see you in a few hours.”

Liam reached across the counter, running a thumb along the side of Zayn's face, across his cheekbones and down to his jaw, before pulling away. “Yeah, see you.”

  
  


Liam took his lunch around twelve-thirty in a vain effort to beat some of the rush, meeting up with Zayn outside of Starbucks and then leading Zayn to the Ferry Building to grab something to eat at one of Liam's favorite sandwich spots. Liam got himself a pulled pork combo and waited for Zayn to receive his soup and bag of chips, Liam paying for both of their meals out of habit before claiming a table for them to share by the window overlooking the Bay. It was a nice day out despite the incoming cold front, clear and sunny, and Liam distantly watched as the water broke against the side of the building.

“I really didn't know,” Zayn mumbled around one of his chips. “And I – I freaked out, made things worse. I shouldn't have antagonized, and I'm so sorry, Liam.”

“We really just – we need to talk, and about more than just that,” Liam replied, setting his sandwich down and sneaking a glance at Zayn, whose expression had gone carefully blank. “We've already done things that we shouldn't, and that – that's my fault. You told me you were engaged when we first met, and like. We've kissed since then, and I've wanted _more_ since then, Zayn. What are we doing here? What are _you_ doing here?”

Zayn fidgeted a bit in his seat. “I thought you said we weren't going to be having a conversation about my intentions.”

“ _Zayn_.”

Zayn sighed, swirling at the soup in his bowl listlessly before lying his spoon down on a small napkin to his side. “So like – how do you want me to explain? Like a timetable of my shit decisions or – ”

“Just however you feel comfortable.”

“I don't feel comfortable at all, but all right,” Zayn answered, running his fingers through his hair nervously. “Okay so like, the short of it is I've been engaged for about six months. Her name is Perrie and we don't live together, not really. I'm staying in West Oakland, she's got a place in Sacramento but she comes down here every so often.”

“She's not around much, and that's why you can cheat, then,” Liam clarified. Zayn seemed to flinch a little at that word – “cheat.” Liam made mental note of it as Zayn slowly nodded.

“It's not like – I do love her. That's not why – why I do this. Like, words can't describe how much.”

“But?”

Zayn opened his mouth and shut it with a frustrated noise. “You're going to judge me.”

Liam shrugged a bit. “Maybe, but that shouldn't stop you from trying to tell me.”

“Well, it's just – I wanted her to stop asking me. About what I was doing when she wasn't around. Because like – okay. I was seeing Harry, you know that. I was seeing Harry and Perrie at the same time, and she kind of suspected as much. When I ended it with Harry, I just wanted to make it up to her, you know? I got her tattooed on my arm, bought her a bunch of shit. It seemed right at the time. To ask her. And she said yes, so.”

Liam frowned. “And that didn't make her more suspicious? Because any time Harry tries – _tried_ – to pull shit like that with me, I automatically knew that something was up.”

Zayn didn't respond, just picked up his spoon and began playing with his food again.

“So why talk to me, then? When you love her and want to make things work?”

Zayn rolled his eyes and mumbled his answer, probably didn't really want Liam to hear those simple, jumbled words – “I've always been self-sabotaging.”

  
  


Harry was lounging on the couch when Liam got back home to the apartment. Liam had made plans to meet up with Zayn again at the end of the week – Liam knew he shouldn't, Zayn was trouble with a capital T but Liam was fucking curious, okay – and that was the only thing that propelled Liam through the rest of the work day. By the time he had gotten home, all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and fall asleep, preferably with Nicholas at his side. Liam hadn't spent any time with the cat in recent days – he was always with fucking Harry. It wasn't fair.

Liam nodded at Harry before throwing his coat on one of the chairs in the dining room and turning to make his way to the master bedroom. Harry stopped Liam's movements by clearing his throat awkwardly and muting the television.

“I know you wanted me out – ”

“Still do,” Liam interrupted.

“ – But I won't be able to leave for like a month,” Harry said, his words uncharacteristically rushed. “Like, Nick said I would be able to crash but he's getting his guest room remodeled and none of my other friends have space – ”

Liam wasn't in the mood to hear any of this. He figured Harry wasn't going to make this easy – Harry hadn't even left that night when Liam demanded that he pack an overnight bag. “Whatever, Harry, so long as you still pay your half of the rent,” Liam answered, turning back toward the master bedroom. Not that he was going to tell Louis, but Liam was already halfway resigned to living with someone who had become his ex-boyfriend for the foreseeable future. “I'm going to bed.”

  
  


It was Friday and Liam was smashed, again. He wondered what it said about – whatever this was – that Liam tended to be drunk whenever he was hanging out with Zayn outside of the confines of their Starbucks.

They were at some nightclub in the Mission, and Liam and Zayn had met near Bart before trudging to the venue. Although Zayn had complained about the line outside, and the cover, and the price of drinks, and the music, and how he hated dancing, and how his drink wasn't strong enough for this bullshit, Liam was pretty sure they were having a good time. They were both several shots in, things were deliciously blurry, and Zayn's body was solid and warm underneath Liam's roaming hands.

“You're drunk!” Zayn proclaimed gleefully, leaning in to shout at Liam before pinching his face a bit. “Aw, you're all sweaty, poor baby.”

“Stop talking to me like that,” Liam mumbled, but it wasn't like he really minded the attention. “Plus you're drunk, too.”

Which, yeah, Zayn was. His quiff had completely deflated, probably from the heat in the club, and his eyes were unfocused, too bright, a honey pool that Liam wanted to drown in.

“I am drunk, yeah, babe,” Zayn answered with a shrug. “More shots?”

  
  


It wasn't an excuse, getting drunk. Just presented an opportunity.

  
  


Because the next thing Liam knew, he was outside of his apartment, Zayn swinging off his arm.

“You sure he isn't home?” Zayn asked, moving to lean against their front door as Liam fucked around with the keys.

And yeah, Liam was _pretty_ sure. Not like they were talking much, but Liam had put up a dry erase board on the refrigerator to leave important information for each other. He made mental note of Harry's most recent reminder as he left the apartment earlier that day, a hastily scrawled, “Will be going out with Nick tonight, don't wait up” as if Liam would even contemplate waiting up for fucking Harry anymore. And then, later, when Liam had come home to shower, change, and take a power nap before meeting up with Zayn, Harry hadn't been home.

So yeah, Liam had been pretty sure. He wouldn't have brought Zayn over if he hadn't been sure – or at least that's what he would say, later.

Liam finally got the door open and once again let Zayn walk in first. Immediately Liam could tell that Harry was home – his clothes were all over the entryway, like Harry had stripped in a hurry.

“Oh fuck,” Liam mumbled, closing the door behind him and pushing past Zayn to stumble to the bedrooms. The door to the guest room was flung wide open, and Harry wasn't inside, but Liam could hear Bright Eyes streaming from the master bedroom. That little shit.

“Harry,” Liam said, turning to the locked master bedroom and banging on the door. “Harry, get out my room!”

The music momentarily was turned down just low enough for Liam to hear Harry say, “Fuck off.”

“No, Harry, get the fuck out of the room!”

“This is my room – and my apartment – too!” Harry sounded just as drunk as Liam was. Great.

“I'm not asking you to get out, I'm _telling_ you, Harry!”

“Why? Is your new lying, scumbag fuck buddy here?”

Zayn, who had been lingering awkwardly in the living room, visibly shook himself and came to stand next to Liam outside the door. “Stop being a brat, Styles!”

Liam made a whiny, frustrated noise deep in his throat and made a slashing motion across his neck, gesturing for Zayn to stop. “Just get out of the room, Harry.”

“I will be as big of a brat as I fucking please,” Harry bellowed. “I'm not leaving so you two can have a go in _our_ bed, so you two can suck each other in the kitchen for all I care!”

“You know what? Fine, we will,” Zayn yelled back, banging once on the locked door before grabbing Liam's hand, tugging Liam into the hallway and leading him back to the kitchen. Zayn shoved Liam back against the cabinets, pressing a chaste kiss to Liam's lips before sinking to his knees.

“Zayn – Zayn, what are you doing?” Liam asked nervously as Zayn set to work unbuttoning his jeans.

“What's it look like, babe?” Zayn asked, glancing at Liam through long eyelashes, innocent hazel eyes that didn't match the devilish smirk tugging at the side of his lips. “I'm going to suck you off in the kitchen, just like Harry suggested.”

“Like hell you are,” and Liam hadn't even heard Harry walk in, not when arousal coursed through his veins, fast and hot, not over the roaring in his ears, but there Harry was, smelling like a bar and wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, his hair a matted mess where he stood in the doorway with arms crossed over his chest. “Get _out_ , Zayn.”

“Liam doesn't want me to go anywhere, do you, babe,” Zayn said, turning to nuzzle his face against Liam's crotch. “And you don't want me to go either, huh, Harry?”

“Fuck you,” Harry spat. It was a little scary, actually – Liam couldn't remember seeing Harry so angry before, not in recent memory, not since the time someone had called them the “f” word when they were cuddling on a Muni train after Pride. But Zayn just laughed Harry off.

“I've already been there, done that,” Zayn taunted, finally getting Liam's jeans undone and shoving them and his boxers down around Liam's knees. Liam's cock bounced and slapped against his stomach wetly, it was almost embarrassing how hard he was and how wet at the tip, how much Zayn and Harry fighting _over him_ turned him on. “You can watch this time,” Zayn continued, wrapping a hand around Liam and looking up. “This okay, babe?” he asked, his voice a soft whisper just for Liam, and Liam nodded, his eyes sliding shut when Zayn spat on his length, stroking him once, twice, and then taking Liam into his mouth in one long, thick swallow.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Liam cursed, slamming his head back against the cabinet. It was too much too soon, the sight of Zayn crouched between his knees, cheeks hollowed as he sucked Liam, eyes closed as he swirled his tongue around the tip before taking Liam in deeper, eyes closed as if there wasn't anything hotter for Zayn than this act, this moment, eyes closed as if the taste of Liam's precome was all he needed, eyes closed as he made these soft noises of contentment that made Liam swell even harder within the confines of Zayn's mouth, but Harry was watching them, eyes glassy, maybe from that bottle of Grey Goose, but definitely aided by arousal, if the state of his tented boxer briefs were any indication.

Liam wasn't so drunk that he could claim that he thought this was a good idea.

“Harry,” Liam croaked and Harry was by his side in a moment, Harry's erection thick and hot where his body had slotted against Liam's thigh. Harry grabbed the back of Liam's head, fingers threading through curling strands, and tugged just enough to bring their lips together. It was far too rough, too much teeth, but it was perfect, Liam pouring all of his frustration into it by biting Harry's lips, and Harry just took it, moaning into Liam's mouth before pulling back and whispering, “He won't ever admit it, but he likes it when you pull his hair.”

Liam chanced a glance at Zayn and cursed again when he felt Zayn's moan around his length. It was so obscene, Zayn's eyes still screwed shut, one hand working Liam in coordination with his mouth, but the other hand shoved down the front of Zayn's jeans, moving slowly over his own length, and _Liam couldn't even see it_.

Liam could feel Harry's smirk as Harry's lips began to chart a course down the side of Liam's neck, feathery light presses against Liam's sweaty skin. “He also likes to lean against the side of the bed and let you fuck his mouth.”

Zayn pulled off and Liam had never felt sadder in his fucking twenty-four years of life. “ _Harry_ ,” Zayn warned, voice already raspy from having Liam's cock halfway down his throat.

“Miss hearing you say my name like that,” Harry taunted and Zayn abruptly got to his feet, crowding against Harry and squeezing Harry's dick through the fabric of his underwear. It was – fuck. They looked _good_ together, was the thing. And Liam hadn't thought about it too hard, couldn't, not when he was still so hurt by the idea, but like. Shit. Liam's traitorous, awful brain couldn't help but think how much better things would've been if Harry had just suggested that Liam could _watch_. “Shit, Zayn – ”

“Maybe it's time I get to see you on your knees,” Zayn answered, withdrawing his hand and pushing at Harry's shoulders. “You know Liam better than me, teach me what makes him scream.”

Harry's face was immediately robbed of mirth. “You're not funny – ”

“Who said I was joking?” Zayn replied coolly. “Or maybe I'll let him fuck me and you can watch, yeah?”

“Fuck,” Liam mumbled, his dick twitching against his thigh.

“You like that, huh?” Zayn said, turning to Liam with a look of absolute glee. “Real life revenge porn, huh, Liam?”

“Shit, yeah,” Liam gasped and Zayn turned to him with a bruising kiss, both of them smiling into it, the bulge of Zayn's cock straining against his jeans as he ground his hips against Liam's bare thigh. “But I wanna – ”

“Anything,” Zayn promised, voice low. “And not just – with everything. Gotta make it up to you, right, babe?”

“Right,” Liam replied, so dazed and mind already telling him this was a bad idea, terrible – he wasn't drunk enough to excuse this, but he _wanted_ it, body already thrumming just at the sheer thought of it, wanted it at least once, wanted it because things with Harry were falling apart and Liam loved him so much and couldn't let it all be completely fucking meaningless, wanted it because he could maybe create something with Zayn, if given the chance – and shit. He wanted it because he had eyes, and a mouth, and a dick, and Liam never did think with his cock enough, not like Harry did, not like Zayn could. “I want to sleep with both of you. Together. At the same time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure when the next chapter will be up. My posting schedule has gotten all out of whack due to work, the holidays, and starting *another* fic (FYI: writing three stories at the same time is stupid! Don't do it!) but I'll try to at least have Chapter Six in a week since it's half-written, kind of.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry had once stared into the hazel eyes of Lilith and somehow escaped, and now that motherfucker was sitting on his couch, arms wrapped around his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is ridiculously late. I'm sorry about that.
> 
> As usual, thanks to Frida for reading this over and cheerleading me when I need it, and thanks to all of you for reading.

So yeah, things seemed to be a bit fucked in Harry Styles' life right about now. He hadn't even consciously set out to make things this way, either.

It was all Zayn Malik's fault, as usual.

You see, the first time Harry had cheated, it had been a mistake. He hadn't told Liam – there was no need, no point in upsetting Liam when it was a one time thing – Liam had been out of town, visiting one of his sisters, and Harry was lonely, or something. He just kicked the guy out afterward, cleaned up the guest bedroom and went to sleep. It wouldn't ever happen again.

The second time Harry had cheated, it had been a spur of the moment decision – a crime of passion, a moment of weakness. He couldn't even remember where Liam had been, why he had gone out on the prowl that night, not like it would've been an excuse. A press of lips, teeth, and tongue, before collapsing onto crisp bedsheets and pressing into an unfamiliar body, forcing himself to look at the picture of a happy, heteronormative couple on the side table as he pounded into the clenching flesh beneath him. Fleeting, transient, meaningless. Harry couldn't even remember the guy's name, but Harry had taken a twenty out of the guy's jean pocket when he had escaped to the bathroom to clean himself up as a memento of sorts.

The third time Harry had cheated, he finally stopped deluding himself. Harry came home, reeking of sex, his whole body raw, dick still thick from the memory of the encounter, feeling like this other man had etched his name into Harry's bones. This was the stuff of affairs. Harry found Liam in the living room and told him that Harry needed a break. It set in motion a pattern that would dictate his life over the next eighteen months.

 

Harry hadn't even set out to do anything skeezy. He was on a Muni car, long limbs squashed into a tiny seat by the window, watching the flickering landscape as the train zoomed by. He had plans to meet Nick and Pixie in Ocean Beach, get some brunch and then maybe do a bit of shopping for the apartment. Harry had been looking forward to getting out and seeing his friends all week, but now that the day was finally here, he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. He'd had a series of hard days at work and found that he would've preferred to sleep the weekend away, ideally waking up only to lay light kisses on Liam's shoulders, shuddering under his weight when Liam stirred and helped break the tension in Harry's body with his lips, hands, and cock. But he made himself get out of bed anyway, taking a shower, layering on all of his usual jewelry, and quickly cooking up some bacon and eggs for himself and Liam before darting out of the apartment, heeding Liam's call to pick up some more milk on his way back.

Things with Liam had been so good lately. Harry's indiscretions were in the past, and they were both invested in the relationship in a way they hadn't been in a while. Maybe it was the decision to start renting their own apartment. Only six months previously, they had been staying in a cramped spot in the Mission with Louis, which had been its own form of hell, to be honest. Harry loved Louis, always had, and Harry had thought the feeling was, and always would be, mutual, but lately Harry wasn't sure exactly where they stood. It had been very difficult, living together, especially when two-thirds of them were dating and considering Louis made so much more money than the rest of them and was kind of reveling in it, flashing his success at every opportunity. Luckily he met Eleanor and decided to move out before things got too tense. It was a good riddance as far as Harry was concerned – Harry always kind of felt like Louis was waiting for the other shoe to drop, poised to swoop in like the Prince Charming he was and pick Liam up once Harry inevitably fucked him over, not that Harry ever vocalized these concerns to Liam.

It wasn't fair. Liam was equally capable of ruining Harry, and Harry didn't have a creepy best friend waiting in the wings waiting to steal Liam's spot. Harry didn't think so, at least.

Harry was interrupted out of his thoughts when he noticed someone across the Muni car staring at him. It was a guy, also in his early twenties by the look of him, and he was standing, one arm grasping the long rail that ran along the top of the car, the other wrapped loosely around the shoulders of a pretty blonde girl with a lot of eye makeup. But like, if the girl he was with was pretty, this guy was just other fucking worldly, breath catching in your throat, heart stopping, punch to the gut, _unfair_ beauty. He was thin with an olive toned complexion, clean shaven with perfectly styled hair that peaked out from underneath the hood of his sweater, oversized glasses frames only accentuating the dreamy hazel of his eyes, fuck Harry could see that from here, and a grin that spread from ear to ear when he noticed that Harry was staring back.

The guy pulled back from the girl slightly, but she was too busy chattering to really notice. Just leaned back and into another long pole, wrapping her hands around it as she talked. The guy hardly seemed to be paying attention, just kept staring at Harry, before his face curled around a smirk and he said something to the girl – Harry couldn't hear what over the general noises of the train – and sauntered over to Harry, wrapping his hands around the pole near Harry's seat and leaning into Harry.

“Zayn,” the guy – Zayn – said in greeting, nodding at Harry, smirk still firmly plastered on his face.

“Harry,” Harry replied. “Um, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Zayn mumbled, his eyes raking over the length of Harry's body and slowly tracking their way back up, holding eye contact with Harry easily. “Are you into other boys? Can I get your number?”

“That not your girlfriend over there?” Harry asked, his eyes darting over to Zayn's pretty blonde friend. The girl was watching their exchange with something not unlike jealousy. If she wasn't Zayn's girl, she _wanted_ to be, Harry could tell that. Harry threw her his most charming grin in an attempt to placate her.

“Does it matter?” Zayn countered. “It's not like I haven't noticed the promise ring on your finger. One of the girls I used to fuck with had one from her boyfriend just like it. Is your girl a Mormon or something?”

“ _He_ is just sentimental,” Harry replied, twiddling the ring on his finger self-consciously. He had forgotten he even had it on, had just thrown it on his finger like he did every other morning. It was a gift that had accompanied Liam finally closing the deal on their apartment. Harry didn't think about it very much, anymore. Only when he was trying to remind himself of what he had. But. Well – it wasn't like he had _intended_ to go looking for a fuck today. Apparently now that he had cheated twice, opportunities just fucking fell in his lap. Or came sauntering over to him on the train, looking so good that Harry couldn't possibly say “No.” Harry licked his lips, mind already made up. “Give me your fucking phone.”

Zayn handed his phone over and Harry punched his number in, typing “Harry Muni Boy” as his name and adding a banana emoji for good measure. “Just tell her I'm an old friend from high school or something,” Harry said, nodding at Zayn's companion as he placed the phone back into Zayn's outstretched hand.

“Good thinking,” Zayn acknowledged, saluting Harry as he turned away. “It was great running into you, man,” he continued, letting his voice carry so that his girlfriend could hear. “Let's meet up for beers or something.”

“For sure,” Harry answered, nodding, and he tried to push down the strange, triumphant feeling that was attempting to claw out of his chest. Zayn got off at the next stop, not even throwing a look over his shoulder to see whether Harry was watching him leave, confident that Harry would be. Harry met his friends outside of the brunch spot in Ocean Beach, twiddling the promise ring on his finger all during the meal, and after eating and spending most of his hard-earned paycheck on nicknacks for the house, he would go home and find Liam waiting for him on the couch, press his lips to Liam's, and fuck his brains out, all the while pretending like he wasn't already thinking about doing the same to someone else.

 

Now though. Now everything had gone to shit. It honestly was all of Zayn's fault, although – Harry did suppose he deserved all of this, all of his skeletons tumbling out of the closet and making a mess of his life, of Liam's life. Acknowledging that didn't make dealing with it any easier, though. Especially not when he was sitting in the guest bedroom, dick still almost painfully hard, while he tried to ignore the sound of Liam crying and Zayn attempting to comfort him. Hearing Liam cry was the _worst_. Hearing Zayn's soft, melodic voice over the sobs was somehow even more painful. Harry groaned and rubbed his palms into his eyes. He probably shouldn't have freaked out like that.

It was fucking _weird_ though, there were no other words for this situation at its most basic level. Like Harry was pretty sure that this didn't happen to normal people. His life was a fucking soap opera, one that should've been canceled ages ago, too unbelievable even in a universe of faked deaths and secret evil twins.

It was one thing for you to have an affair, to engage in a stupid, pointless relationship for something like eighteen months. It was awful, but people did awful things all the time. And it would've been fine because Liam never needed to know – he never would've found out.

It was another thing for you to start cheating again, returning to the old familiarity of tumbling into unfamiliar beds because real life was scary, and not because you didn't love your partner – because Harry did love Liam, more than he knew how to deal with most days. It terrified him, how blindly Liam trusted him when Harry never fucking deserved it, so Harry went out and sought encounters that didn't leave him feeling scared, hollowed out and raw. And it was easier, too, now that he had visited that extreme world of affairs, after he had lost himself in the taste of someone else's mouth, nearly suffocated in the tangle of lies, and still managed to come out on the other side. He never chased the person who took his breath away, now, and soon, he knew he wouldn't have to pursue anyone else. Liam had always been enough – Harry just needed to accept it.

It was a whole other thing for your partner to finally realize that you were full of shit and start seeing someone else. It hurt, but Harry knew he deserved it, knew that he couldn't keep stringing Liam along like this, especially when Liam had Louis in his ear, whispering God knows what.

But for your partner to somehow find the person who you had been fucking for eighteen months – eighteen months of bullshit and the best sex you had ever had – and not only bring that person home, but ask, after not properly talking to you for weeks, whether you would be up for a threesome – this was just not on. The devil had to be involved. Harry had once stared into the hazel eyes of Lilith and somehow escaped, and now that motherfucker was sitting on his couch, arms wrapped around his boyfriend.

Harry had said “No” to Liam, of course he had. Screamed it, more like, and called Zayn a bunch of things – because that's how they always talked to each other, incapable of having any semblance of real dialogue, which was part of the reason why they had imploded the way they did – before saying some stuff he didn't mean and locking himself in the guest bedroom. At least Nicholas was here, even if he was generally ignoring Harry, only bothering to look up from licking his paws to give Harry his judgmental face.

“My whole life is fucked,” Harry announced, and willed his erection to go to away before turning on Vampire Weekend in a desperate attempt to cheer himself up and forget everything that had happened.

He'd deal with the fallout in the morning.  


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And being scared is an excuse to be an asshole?”
> 
> “I don't know,” Zayn answered. “You tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued, unending thanks to Frida for beta reading this and in general being supportive and awesome. Also, special thanks to Emily for letting me bounce ideas off of her. And, of course, thanks to all of you for reading!

Waking up that morning was disorienting. Harry had been in the midst of this wonderful dream – more like the reliving of a memory, driving his old convertible with Liam in the passenger seat, hands intertwined where they rested on the console as they made their way down to Monterrey to have a truly blissful day on the beach. It had to have been two years ago, now. Before, well. Everything.

Waking up from such a happy memory was jarring, especially when all of the events of the past few weeks came flooding back. Harry groaned and closed his eyes again, uselessly trying to convince himself that everything that had been done and said was a nightmare before resigning himself to his fate, opening his eyes and rolling over, right into someone else.

Harry was in the middle of a horror film. That was the only possible explanation as to why Zayn was asleep in the guest bed with Harry right now.

And waking up to that familiar face – it wasn't just disorienting. It was terrifying.

 

Meeting Zayn was kind of like meeting a kindred soul. Harry didn't know what the word was for it – it couldn't be fate. It couldn't be.

It was just really fucking weird. The whole thing scared the shit out of Harry, and for good reason, probably.

The first time they properly hung out was about after a month after they met on Muni, a month filled with texting, flirtation, and the promise of more. Zayn told Harry he lived in Oakland and he seemed to always be working, at school, or with someone else – Harry assumed his girlfriend. Harry didn't care, he was always either working or with Liam, so it wasn't like he could judge.

Zayn called one day while Harry was at the shop. Harry was technically a buyer for Cara, one of his Academy of Art friends who had gone on to open a boutique after graduation, but Harry was also doing a bit of design on the side in the hopes that he could eventually gather enough capital to go on and have his own line. As of right now, though, that mostly meant he sat around at the boutique all day and sketched, occasionally putting in orders for stuff online. It was a great deal. He got to sketch, sit on Tumblr and Pinterest, and get paid for it.

It also gave him the freedom to take calls from potential hook-ups during the middle of the day, apparently.

“Zayn,” Harry greeted, putting his pencil down and pausing Kings of Leon. “What's up?”

“Are you busy?” Zayn asked. “I've got out of class early and I don't have work today. I was wondering if I could see you.”

Harry pulled his phone back from his ear and checked the time. It was about two o'clock and it wasn't like Harry planned on doing much more work in the evening. Liam was also likely to be leaving his job late, so he wouldn't even know when Harry came home, so long as it was before eight or so. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do?”

“Um, it's whatever. We could get something to eat and then head back to my place. I think my roommates will be out this evening.”

Harry hummed. “Could we go by the mall downtown? I could get you something, if you need anything.”

Zayn scoffed. “Do you offer gifts to all of the pretty boys you pick up, then?”

Harry laughed, grinning. “Zayn, you've never gone shopping until you've done it with me.”

Which was true. It was one thing to go shopping and spend hundreds, maybe thousands, of dollars, walking around with heavy bags and showing off your wealth. It was an entirely different thing to enter a store and leave without any bags but a full wallet, salespeople wishing you a great day even though you just stole a few hundred dollars worth of shit. Harry had been shoplifting for _years_. It had been a great way to pass time when he was younger, going with

his friends to the mall and sneaking bottles of nail polish into his pants pockets as gifts for his mother and sister, before he upgraded to slightly bigger “purchases,” whole outfits for himself from Urban Outfitters, costume jewelry from Nordstrom, one time picking up $1600 worth of Burberry accessories from a Saks Fifth Avenue in Southern California that he would never be returning to. Liam _hated_ it, hated how nonchalant Harry was about stealing clothes when Harry himself wanted to be a designer, but Liam never did turn down any of Harry's gifts, even though he had to know not all of them were legally procured. Harry had a feeling Zayn wouldn't mind it all that much, though.

Harry and Zayn met across the street from the Westfield mall. Harry spotted Zayn out of the crowd easily – Zayn was wearing a gray hoodie underneath a black leather jacket, lounging against the entrance to The Gap, chain smoking and watching kids break-dancing by the Muni turnaround. Harry walked up to Zayn and knocked his hand against Zayn's, unclear about how physical contact worked in this situation. They had already talked about fucking each other, in extreme detail, even, but were they allowed to kiss? They had only met each other once, so was it all right to give Zayn a hug? Harry had never done this before, had never hung out with his hookups or stayed around long enough to learn their last name let alone their interests, wasn't sure what the boundaries were when he had only ever done the dating thing with Liam. Zayn seemed to pick up on Harry's discomfort, throwing Harry a wolfish grin before letting his cigarette fall to the ground and stomping it out with his Doc Martens.

“So, where did you wanna go shopping, rich boy?” Zayn asked, smirking at Harry through his eyelashes.

“What do you need?”

Zayn shrugged. “I don't _need_ anything. I just wanted to see you.”

Harry grinned and grabbed Zayn's hand, tsking even though the skin to skin contact sent a tremendous thrill through his veins. “It's winter, you should have a pair of gloves, at least.”

Zayn shrugged, smiling. “I mean, if you insist.”

“Sephora has this awesome hair styling product I could get you,” Harry continued, taking his other hand and rubbing at the short hairs at the nape of Zayn's neck.

“I'm always open to new products.”

“Well, that's a start,” Harry said and he gave Zayn's hand a comforting squeeze and set off toward the mall, where he would go on to shove a pair of gloves from Bloomingdale's down the front of his pants and talk with the security guard about how temperamental the detectors can be, and hide a bottle of hair gel in his jacket at Sephora before strolling right out. Harry dragged Zayn into different stores around the mall, smiling whenever Zayn threw him a confused glance.

“What's this all about?” Zayn hissed once they were on the bus, setting away from the mall to head toward one of Harry's favorite restaurants in SoMa. “Your idea of fun is taking new friends on a shoplifting frenzy?”

“Calm down, we only went to five stores,” Harry answered. “I was going to get you some stuff from Hot Topic but I could tell it was making you antsy.”

“Listen here, white boy,” Zayn said, grabbing Harry's face firmly and making Harry's eyes meet his own. “Stealing shit is not my idea of fun. I got caught trying to lift a pair of shoes once, and I just _barely_ got out of a shit ton of trouble for it. I'm not sure what type of encounters you've had with the police over your five finger discounter lifestyle, but I'm just letting you know now that I'm not going to be a conspirator.”

“Got it,” Harry replied breathlessly.

“That being said – next time you choose to go to the mall, I want an Obey snapback.”

Harry grinned, slowly, languidly, and Zayn smirked at Harry before leaning in and kissing him.

They went to dinner and had a great time. Harry handed Zayn all of his gifts and Zayn took them with another kiss, draping his arms around Harry's shoulders and standing up on his toes to better curl his tongue around Harry's. Harry walked Zayn to Bart and watched Zayn jog down the stairs, trying to ignore the longing feeling in his own chest. That should've been a sign – that they went out and hung out for hours, had dinner, and didn't even end up fucking – and that Harry didn't mind, was content to wait for the right moment. It should've been a sign that Harry was already in too deep, but Harry was stupid and naïve.

 

And now he was going to have to deal with – well. All of it.

“Wake up,” Harry grumbled, pushing at Zayn's shoulders. “You bastard – wake the fuck up.”

Zayn slowly stirred, hazel eyes fluttering open and closed before he mumbled and turned over, away from Harry. “Not now, Harry.”

“Not now?” Harry repeated. “You dick – why are you in my bed?”

“Liam wanted to sleep alone,” Zayn said, half into his pillow. “Told me he'd call me in the morning.”

“So you just decided to stay and crawl into _my_ bed?” Harry clarified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Zayn groaned, turning back over and rubbing his hands into his eyes. “You didn't seem too opposed to it at the time.” Harry pulled a face and Zayn laughed, causing Harry to curse underneath his breath. “Nah, seriously, it was too late to take Bart and I didn't want to take the bus home so I just came in here. You were all drunk and sleepy – I forgot how much you liked to cuddle.”

“I swear to God, Zayn – ”

Zayn rolled on top of Harry, suddenly wide awake as he pinned Harry down easily and straddled his waist. “Maybe this is just the universe telling us something,” Zayn replied smugly, grinding into Harry just _that_ much. Harry's body responded, hips bucking up, cock swelling at the hint of what Zayn was alluding to. Harry mentally cursed his dick – thinking with it had never gotten him anywhere good. “Unfinished business and all that.”

“ _You're_ the one who left,” Harry retorted, pushing up against Zayn's grip and rubbing up against him in the process.

Zayn shrugged but tightened his hold on Harry, the mask slipping just enough for Harry to see how confused Zayn was. Zayn always did a good job at pretending like he was in control, but Harry knew better. Zayn never knew what the fuck he was doing – he just kind of acted out and was always baffled when he managed to fuck things up. There was self-sabotage, and then there was Zayn. “And now look at where I am. Right back in your bed again.”

Harry sighed. “Zayn – ”

“No, let me just,” Zayn started. “You know I never wanted to hurt you, Harry.”

Harry laughed cruelly. “How stupid do you think I am, Zayn?”

Zayn's face fell, just enough to send a small thrill of pleasure up Harry's spine. Nothing ever got Harry off quite like hurting Zayn. “Harry, _please_.”

“No, honestly, fuck you, Zayn,” Harry continued. “I don't know how you met Liam and I – I know I fucked up with him, and it breaks my heart every day, to see how much I've ruined things, how much I've fucked _him_ up. But if you think that I'll let you get a go at ripping him apart, just like you did me – ”

“Harry this isn't fair.”

“What you did to me isn't fair!” Harry screamed. Harry hoped that Liam didn't hear, hoped Liam was still deeply asleep across the hall. “And you know it! You were looking for an out so you fucking ran with it.”

“I was scared!”

“And being scared is an excuse to be an asshole?”

“I don't know,” Zayn answered, letting go of Harry's wrists and toppling off of him, back onto the other side of the bed. “You tell me.”

Harry scoffed. “Oh, so now this is about me.”

“No, this is about Liam.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It's cute that you're using Liam as a shield, but let's just fast forward past all of the drawn out character development that you're pretending happened in the past six months, all right? This – all of this – it's clearly about you and me.”

Zayn pulled a face. “How singularly selfish. You're such a narcissist.”

Harry pursed his lips. “You know, on my end, it's hard to believe this is anything but a ploy to get back with me – or back at me.”

Zayn sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you think that I just sat around for the past six months, plotting ways to piss you off – ”

“It's what you did before!”

A muscle in Zayn's jaw twitched. “Ok, I suppose. Yeah, I deserved that. But I _didn't_ , Harry. You've got to believe me on this one. He just came into Starbucks and – God. He's just beautiful, isn't he? I had to know everything about him – I didn't even think about it, didn't even realize who he was. Couldn't have ever possibly thought that he was _your_ Liam. It just felt like – ”

Harry closed his eyes, thought of the first time he grabbed Zayn's hand, the first time their lips slotted together, the first time Harry came home from a night with Zayn and recognized that everything had irrevocably changed. “Like fate?”

Zayn turned toward Harry, his bottom lip trembling. He was so earth-shatteringly beautiful, how did Harry ever forget how gorgeous Zayn was? “Harry – ”

“Zayn, I can't _do_ this again,” Harry whispered. “I had to hide all of this from Liam last time, and that – it was so _hard_ , pretending like everything was fine when all I could think about was you. And now you're fucking back in my life, wreaking havoc as usual, and I – I can't.”

“But Liam wants us both,” Zayn replied, reaching over and grabbing Harry's hand, slotting their fingers together and the gesture was so familiar and easy that Harry wanted to cry. “And not just in his bed. I honestly think he wants to try a relationship with both of us – that's why he got so upset last night. You've got to know how much it took for him to admit that. It's obvious that he's kinda drilled it into his head that he wanted that nuclear family bullshit and life has thrown him a curveball.”

“Just because he wants something with both of us individually doesn't mean I want anything to do with you, Zayn,” Harry sneered.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Honestly, take your head out of your ass for like, two seconds. Do you honestly think that Liam would be able to live with himself with the two of us at each other's throats like this?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “He hasn't really talked to me in weeks. I don't even know if we're still together, right now. He just wants you and doesn't know how to break it off with me.”

“He loves you, Harry. So much. I've watched his reactions every time you come up and like – that's why he lets you treat him like this, because he sees the good boyfriend you could be, if you weren't so afraid. Isn't that really what this – _all_ of this – is about? How fucking terrified all three of us have been? And you've got to know – ”

“Don't, Zayn,” Harry interrupted, leaning back, away from Zayn, away from his gorgeous face and his whiskey eyes and his pretty lies.

“No, you've got to let me say it,” Zayn said firmly, crowding into Harry's space and carding his fingers through Harry's hair. “We really do have unfinished business. You're still so _angry_ , because of what I did, and I – I deserve it, yeah? There's so much here between us, still, and I – I believe that we can't just ignore it. You know I still love you, Harry. I'm stupidly in love with you, I haven't been able to get you out of my head, all of this time. And I know I fucked up badly before. I'm willing to try and work it out, if you are.”

Harry sighed. “You know it's really hard to believe _anything_ you have to say.” And it was. This declaration was certainly nice, but it was about six months too late, and very likely all bullshit. Harry wasn't sure how he used to believe everything Zayn said so easily, wasn't sure how he was able to pour so much trust and faith into someone who treated relationships like a boxing ring. But Harry deserved it, probably. Deserved to have his heart torn apart when he was so eager to wrap himself in Zayn and yet still go home every night to an amazing person who made him feel so whole, safe, loved.

Zayn nodded, averting his gaze. “I know. But I'm not lying this time, Harry.”

Harry shrugged, completely unconvinced. “I'll have to think about it, Zayn.”

“That's – that's all I can ask for,” Zayn replied. “I really do love you, Harry.”

“ _Please,_ ” Harry said, and Zayn understood immediately, getting out of bed and padding his way out of the room. Zayn slid the door closed quietly and Harry turned over to stare at the wall. The silence that surrounded him was deafening. He somehow forced himself to go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Beyonce's Drunk In Love and Natalia Kills' Watching You on like this weird endless loop the whole time I was writing this chapter, if that explains anything.
> 
> I am also anticipating getting yelled at a bit for this chapter, so if you want to do that, go ahead!


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn was always around - making puppy eyes at Liam, cooking meals for Liam, ignoring calls from his fiancee because he was too busy metaphorically dickriding Liam, studying in their living room while sitting half in Liam’s lap, pretending like he couldn’t understand his business administration course so Liam would help him get ready for the final. It was gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, Happy Christmas Eve!
> 
> I basically tore through writing this chapter yesterday and figured there wouldn't be any point sitting on it. It's longer than most, partially as a Christmas gift and partially because this is the halfway mark through the fic and I've finally decided that I can start revealing some of the secrets in this story.
> 
> Thanks to Frida for the beta and pushing me to be awful, and Emily for always providing the best suggestions. And of course, thanks to all of you!

Harry came home and was immediately greeted with the sight of Louis and Zayn lounging about in his kitchen. Well, lounging wasn’t exactly the right word - Louis was staring daggers at Zayn and Zayn was drinking out of a red cup that Harry would bet was half full of vodka. Harry couldn’t even pretend to be surprised that they were in his apartment, with Liam nowhere to be found. Life was just that cruel.

It had been something like two weeks since Liam had confessed that he wanted a threesome with Zayn and Harry, two weeks since Zayn had crept into Harry’s bed and back into his life. Since then, Zayn was always around - making puppy eyes at Liam, cooking meals for Liam, ignoring calls from his fiancee because he was too busy metaphorically dickriding Liam, studying in their living room while sitting half in Liam’s lap, pretending like he couldn’t understand his business administration course so Liam would help him get ready for the final. It was gross, but having Zayn around always put Liam in a great mood. Zayn and Liam still hadn’t properly hooked up - Harry had asked Zayn about it one day when Liam had run out to get groceries, poking at Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn shrugging and saying, “Liam wants to take it slow.” The same couldn’t be said for Liam and Harry. There hadn’t been a whole lot of moments when both of them were home and Zayn wasn’t, too, but most of them involved Harry on his knees. Harry only knew how to say sorry in a handful of ways, and around a mouthful of cock was one of his favorites. They weren’t exactly good, relationship-wise, but it was better, and that was all Harry could ask for, really.

Still didn’t mean Harry was particularly thrilled to see Zayn and Louis in his apartment.

“Oh wow, two of my favorite people in the universe,” Harry said, kicking the door closed and walking into the living room, flopping onto the couch and grinning when Nicholas jumped to cuddle next to him. “To what do I owe this immense pleasure? And where is Liam?”

“Went to pick up some pizza,” Louis answered primly, coming into the living room and glaring at Harry. “We weren’t expecting you back for another few hours.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Harry pointed out. “No point sitting around at the shop all day, is there?”

“Wasn’t aware that you even went to work,” Louis continued, tone still strained with his half-assed attempt at being civil. “I assumed you laid about fucking strangers all day.”

Harry grinned. “You wound me, Lewis. You do know that I used to plough that boy that’s in the kitchen right now? You must recognize him.”

Louis pursed his lips as Zayn came into the living room, a shot glass in each hand. He downed one and gestured to Harry with the other. Harry grinned and took the glass from Zayn, holding it between his fingers and smirking at Louis over the rim of the glass as he threw the vodka back. Harry still hated Zayn, of course, couldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him, but finally there seemed to be some utility in keeping him around - anyone who brought alcohol every time he came over and could keep Louis on edge like this was worth a second thought. “I’ve been made aware, yes.”

“You also know that said boy begged me to take him back the other day?”

Zayn snorted and Louis rolled his eyes. “You’re such a prick,” Zayn mumbled, but the way it came out sounded much more like a compliment than an insult.

“Why are you all here?” Harry continued, petting Nicholas behind the ears. “Having a heart to heart without me? I thought we were supposed to be working on a polyamorous arrangement. Are we inviting Louis into this relationship, too? I’m already feeling all left out.”

“I can’t with this fucking asshole,” Louis groaned, throwing his hands up and flouncing out of the room. Harry heard a door slam and assumed that Louis went into the master bedroom to sulk until Liam came back.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Zayn chortled. “You went and made Liam’s friend all mad.”

“‘Liam’s friend,’ as if you didn’t dump me because of that dickhead,” Harry grumbled, reaching around Nicholas to grab the remote and turn on the television. Luckily General Hospital was still on, so he quickly settled further into the couch to watch.

“Stop putting it all on me like I just dumped you out of the blue,” Zayn countered. “I know I fucked up, but as I recall, you threw a plate at my fucking head.”

Harry sighed, reminiscing. Great times all around - Zayn sulking during the entire Bart ride back to his apartment, mumbling, “I know you fucked that Louis guy, you should stop lying about it,” and then starting a huge fight that Harry attempted to end by throwing a plate at Zayn’s head. “Pity I missed,” Harry grinned.

“You dick.”

Harry shrugged. “So really though, why are you both here?”

Zayn pulled a face. “I’m not sure. I told Liam I wanted to meet up for lunch and I got here after work and fucking Tomlinson was in the apartment. Liam introduced us but he recognized me, of course, and started going off like, ‘Oh this is your friend? You know I caught him with his mouth on Styles’ dick, blah blah blah.’” Zayn stood up and disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, reappearing with his red cup. “Which isn’t even true. When he caught us I had my hands down your pants.”

“Not like Liam knows the difference, since you lied to him about it all anyway.”

Zayn coughed and took a sip from his cup. “Well, can you blame me for trying to cast myself in the best light possible?”

“Nope, I can’t really fault a compulsive liar for being a compulsive fucking liar,” Harry answered, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Can get upset at you for trying to steal my boyfriend, though.”

“As if a person can ever be stolen, Harry,” Zayn retorted. “If that were the case, I would’ve had you ages ago.”

Harry wrinkled his nose and turned the volume up on the television. “It’s really impressive how much you make me rethink my commitment to pacifism.”

Zayn tilted his head. “You did throw quite a lot of objects in my general direction during our tumultuous courtship. And I do recall quite a bit of shoving, biting, and slapping whenever we hooked up.”

Harry picked up the remote, holding it lazily in his hand. “Keep fucking talking, Zayn. Please. Keep talking.”

Zayn was more than likely a little drunk, and almost definitely an idiot, so he just shrugged, took a long gulp out of his red cup and said, “I love when you threaten me with violence, it gets me hard.”

Harry chucked the remote at Zayn, who easily ducked out of the way, causing the remote to thud to the ground harmlessly. Zayn laughed, took another gulp out of his cup, and then dumped the rest of the contents over Harry’s head, sauntering back into the kitchen to refill his drink while Harry cursed at him.

 

By the time Liam actually got back home, balancing two giant boxes of pizza, everyone in the apartment was vaguely murderous, and Harry’s hair was still wet. Liam made them all eat dinner together anyway. Harry loved Liam so much but damn, Liam needed to know when things were just not worth salvaging. It was enough that Harry was trying to tolerate Zayn’s presence, but Harry used to at least get fabulous, if extremely violent and terrifying, sex out of Zayn. Louis was just someone he used to be friends with, and someone who fucked up a year and a half of awesome sex with Zayn - and with Liam too, now that he thought about it.

"Um, how was your day?" Liam asked, turning to Harry.

Harry choked back his surprise at being addressed directly in front of both Zayn and Louis and stuttered out a response. "Uh, g-great until I got home, I guess."

"You can always make it great again by leaving," Louis suggested. Liam threw Louis a warning look but Louis ignored it, chewing his slice of pepperoni pizza with his mouth open.

"You're really quite pedestrian," Harry said, turning to Louis. "Not sure how I missed it all before."

Zayn laughed, cutting himself off with a guilty look and staring intensely at his cheese slice while Louis scowled. Liam sighed. "Can you all at least pretend to be civil?"

"No," Harry and Louis answered in unison before glaring at each other.

"They don't really mean it," Zayn replied, smirking. "One day they'll kiss and make up."

"Keep talking and I swear I'll throw something and I won't miss," Harry said sweetly. Zayn fixed Harry with a filthy look in response, a smirk that cut Harry in half, Zayn's hazel eyes almost completely black as he leered, all of it terrifying in its familiarity. In fact this whole banter - the back and forth with threats - was achingly comfortable, easy. Harry was used to it - confessions, grand proclamations, things that were too little, too late, that was never their style, before. Harry and Zayn were always too much - those friends you couldn't take anywhere because they were bound to cause a scene, and you could never be sure if they would end up fighting in the club or fucking on the dance floor. And it shouldn't have worked - fuck, it didn't, combusting because of Zayn's insecurities and lies and Harry's penchant for theatrics and his inability to hold onto anything that made him happy. But here they were, doing the exact same shit, easily falling back into the same routine, but this time without the convenient excuse they had used before as justification for a breakup.

If Liam wanted both Zayn and Harry - well, he got them. The good that both of them wished they could maintain all the time for Liam's sake, and the rest - the awful all-consuming self-destructiveness that they unleashed whenever they were around each other.

 

Louis eventually convinced Liam to go out - where, Harry didn’t know, nor did he particularly care, so long as Louis got the fuck out of his house. Liam was all apologies as he threw on a jacket and explained it to Zayn, not that Harry was trying to eavesdrop. It’s just - they left the master bedroom door open, and Harry could easily hear their entire conversation if he muted the television in the living room. “I’ve been putting off having a talk with him,” Liam was saying. “And he deserves an explanation. This is fucking complicated, Zayn.”

“It’s been getting better,” Zayn answered, voice soothing, that buttery, honey voice he used whenever he was 100% bullshitting. “You and Harry have been getting along great. And we’re - well. Us.”

“Wish I could say the same for the two of you.”

Harry could easily imagine Zayn’s shrug. “This is pretty harmonious, as far as the two of us go. Don’t worry about us, though. Just - go out with Louis. Have a great time at the movies.”

“Are you going to be here when I come in?” Liam asked, voice small. Harry rolled his eyes and ignored the sound of Louis padding out of the guest bathroom and into the living room.

“Are you eavesdropping?” Louis asked, ruffling Harry’s hair as if they were still friends. “You’re so pathetic.”

“Nowhere near as pathetic as you, pining after your best friend,” Harry said, grinning at Louis over his shoulder. “Do you want to know what Liam tastes like?”

Louis opened his mouth to retort but Zayn and Liam came back out of the bedroom, Liam giving Zayn’s hand a quick squeeze before walking over to Harry and kissing him full on the mouth. “I’ll be back in a bit, all right?” Liam mumbled half against Harry’s lips. Harry nodded and smiled once more for Louis’ benefit. Louis looked close to combustion but he shook himself and grabbed Liam by the elbow, mumbling something that sounded close to “Go fuck yourself, Harry,” before steering Liam out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Aw, he kissed you goodnight,” Zayn cooed, coming around the sofa to sit on the floor at Harry’s feet and stealing Nicholas out of Harry’s lap. “Happy couple doing happy couple things.”

“Why are you still here?” Harry asked, unmuting the television and changing the channel to a rerun of Catfish. “Don’t you have a fiancee?”

“She’s in Sacramento still,” Zayn explained, leaning against Harry’s leg. “I’m going to see her family around New Years.”

“Aw,” Harry mocked. “Happy couple doing happy couple things.”

“Jealous?”

Harry scoffed. “You’re cute, Zayn.”

“Not about me and Perrie,” Zayn continued. “Jealous of how Liam is finally gonna fuck me tonight.”

Harry threw his hands up into the air. “Why would I be jealous when I have been given a free pass to fuck you both?”

Zayn smirked. “Really? I was under the impression that Liam could be with both of us at once, but the two of us on our own is a definite ‘no-no.’”

Harry stared at Zayn, eyes flitting between Zayn’s as he attempted to decipher what Zayn was really saying. “You’re trying to goad me into fucking you,” Harry realized. “What is wrong with you?”

“Come on, don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

“No, I really haven’t.”

“Not even at dinner?” Zayn asked, slowly pushing Nicholas out of his lap and standing, looming over Harry and laying a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I could tell you were remembering the last time.”

“Zayn,” Harry warned.

“Tell me to stop,” Zayn continued because he was always fucking pushing it. “You remember the word.”

And Harry could. He remembered very clearly how they fought for ages over what would be the safe word -

"Perrie," Harry had suggested, flicking a lock of hair out of his face.

"We can't use my fucking girlfriend's name as a safe word, you moron."

"She definitely is an immediate turn off for me," Harry replied, voice sugary, saccharine.

"Well she isn't for me. You screaming her name would just make me think of how hot it'd be if I got to watch her peg you.” Zayn paused, licking his lips. “Plus it's not fair that you know what Perrie looks like and I've never seen your boy."

Harry had rolled his eyes and reached for his phone, thumbing through his pictures before he settled on one Liam had sent him when they had been apart for a few days - a screencap of a Snapchat, nothing of Liam’s face, only his hard dick where it curved up against his abdomen. Harry tossed his phone at Zayn with a "Here you go," and Zayn stared hungrily at the picture before suggesting, “What about ‘pineapple’? Hard to get too wound up thinking about pineapples, unlike bananas.”

“Zayn, please,” Harry said, jolting himself back into the moment.

“How far can I push you now, Harry?” Zayn continued. “Are we all green?”

“I fucking hate you,” Harry retorted and suddenly Zayn was everywhere, crawling into Harry’s lap and wrapping both fists in Harry’s curls, pulling hard to expose the curve of Harry’s neck and attacking it with his mouth, sucking the skin until it was reddish purple.

“You’re just a warm-up,” Zayn growled, pressing his thumb against the bruise and squeezing Harry’s neck. “You’re just a way to pass the time until Liam comes back.”

“First you love me and now I’m nothing, got it,” Harry spat out as Zayn continued to press against his throat. Zayn rolled his eyes at Harry, letting go of his neck. Harry’s hands flew to his throat immediately, massaging the skin there, but Zayn laughed, slapping Harry soundly. It didn’t hurt, not much, but Harry tasted a bit of copper along the inside of his cheek so he collected it inside of his mouth and spat into Zayn’s face. Zayn sputtered and Harry grinned, pushing Zayn out of his lap so that Zayn fell back against the coffee table.

“I don’t have time for this, Zayn,” Harry said, adjusting himself in his pants. “I’m gonna go watch porn and go to sleep. Night.” And Harry went to the guest bedroom, locking the door behind him and falling back against the wood, immediately shoving his pants down and wrapping a hand around himself.

 

When Harry woke up the next morning, Zayn didn’t appear to be up yet and Liam was valiantly trying to cook eggs. Harry grumbled and pushed Liam out of the way, dumping the eggs in the trash and taking the carton back out of the refrigerator to fry something up.

“Merry Christmas,” Liam said, running familiar fingers along the waistband of Harry’s briefs and falling into a chair in the dining room.

“Merry Christmas,” Harry mumbled back. “What are your plans today?”

Liam pulled a face. “Don’t do that, Harry. You know we’re going to your parents’ tonight.”

Harry shrugged. “We hadn’t talked about it.” And they hadn’t. Liam had been in a good mood, sure, but that didn’t mean they had worked anything out, not even where they were going to be spending Christmas. Harry had assumed that Liam would be with Louis - or Zayn, even - while Harry drove up to Napa to see his parents, as he generally did for Christmas.

“Well, we’re going to see your parents. No discussion there. But um,” Liam continued awkwardly. “Did you have sex with Zayn last night?”

Harry screwed up his face and retched a bit for good measure. “God, no. Why, did he tell you that we did?” Harry really wouldn’t put it past Zayn.

“No, just. You have a tremendous bite on your neck again.”

Harry’s hand flew to his neck. “Oh yeah. He did do that, and I shouldn’t have let him. But nothing happened. He was just trying to get a rise out of me. Scout’s honor.”

Liam’s eyes darted between both of Harry’s and he let out a small, relieved noise. “I believe you.”

Harry snuck a glance at Liam. “Would it have been a problem, if we had?”

Liam paused, his face contemplative as he mulled it over. “I mean - yes. I don’t - it was hard, watching you go out and be with other people, not having the courage to tell you that it hurt. But like. I haven’t really thought about what it would mean - if you and Zayn did something. Because you already have, you know? I’d probably be upset, yeah. But for different reasons.”

“I don’t presume to know what you and Zayn have got going on here,” Harry said, poking at the eggs in the skillet a bit. “And I mean - the way he treats you would be sickeningly cute if I didn’t remember how he treated me.”

“Are you ever going to tell me?” Liam asked. “What happened between the two of you?”

Harry shrugged. “I figured you didn’t want to hear it from me.”

“I do. I want to hear from both of you.”

Harry scrunched up his face a bit and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I’ll gladly tell you. It’s really just - we met on Muni, we hung out a bit. Started fooling around. It really was an off and on thing, just like he said. But Zayn’s really jealous.” Harry lifted his shoulder and sighed. “I am, too, I guess. One day Zayn and I were a bit reckless, went to that club Louis is always at. Louis saw us and blew up at us, and Zayn got it in his head that I was sleeping with Louis, too. It really didn’t make any sense, but he was itching for a fight. He’s basically admitted as much, since. He kept bringing it up, and one day we were fighting about it again in his apartment and I took a plate and threw it at him. That was kind of the end of it.”

Liam coughed a bit awkwardly. “So, like. Did Zayn know about me?”

“He knew about you in theory. He never saw any pictures of you. He was never over at the house. We didn’t talk about you because he knew I felt guilty about what I was doing, but I know his girl - Perrie. We hung out with her a few times, even. Zayn is really fucking bold. He’ll probably drag you along to meet her at some point, too.”

Liam groaned. “I hate thinking about her. I’ve - this whole time I’ve pretended as though she doesn’t exist because it makes me feel like such a dick. I was Perrie, you know. I can’t believe - ”

Harry adjusted the heat on the eggs and turned toward Liam, his countenance serious. “You do know he’s never going to leave her,” Harry started. “If you and Zayn - God forbid - start seriously dating or whatever, you’ll always be the other woman.”

Liam gaped at Harry. “How is it so easy - ”

“What?” Harry asked. “To talk about Perrie?”

“No,” Liam answered emphatically. “For you to talk about Zayn and I like, dating or whatever.”

Harry pulled a face. “Well, isn’t that what the two of you are doing?”

“I mean, well yeah, but like - ”

“Do you think that I’m not jealous?” Harry tried, instead. “Because I am jealous. I’m fucking furious, so upset, but like, this is my fault, right? I practically shoved you into his arms and if you want him - I can’t just tell you not to try it out with him. I obviously get the fucking appeal.”

Liam licked his lips nervously. “Do you even want me anymore, Harry? Or have you just completely given up?”

Harry pulled down three plates and walked back over to the refrigerator to grab some bacon. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Being here physically isn’t the same as being here emotionally.”

Harry groaned. “Look, I’ll always be here if you’ll have me. But like - we have a lot of shit to work out, Liam. I’d understand if it’s more than what you want to deal with. What you and Zayn have got going right now - it’s easy. We’re not easy, haven’t been for ages.”

“I know that,” Liam scoffed. “I’ve been here, too, right in this relationship with you. But like - I’ve been thinking a lot, Harry. And maybe it’s too much to expect that we get everything we ever wanted from one person.”

Harry stared at Liam. “Ok.”

Liam laughed nervously. “You do realize how scary it is to admit that?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry mumbled. “I just - I don’t want to share you.”

“I’ve shared you with other people for ages,” Liam said, voice small, and suddenly Harry was struck with his own selfishness.

“I’m just - I’m gonna go call my mom and tell her that we’re coming over, real quick,” Harry said, needing to bail on this conversation before they got to some more truths that he was not ready to deal with. “Um. Will Zayn be coming?”

Liam shrugged. “I don’t know what his plans are for today.”

“Lovely,” Harry said, affecting a sweet, defensive tone, before he turned out of the kitchen and went to hide in the guest bedroom for a few minutes, taking deep, steadying breaths and fighting back the urge to cry, until he remembered he still had the bacon on and hurried back out to tend to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to try and clear some things up because I realize that I have been intentionally vague and some people would prefer for me to be really concrete about what this story is, and what it isn't.
> 
> I stand by my assertion that this will be a Ziam-centric OT3 fic. I have intentionally divided the story up into three parts: Chapters 1-5 were from Liam's point of view and were kind of Lirry focused, Chapters 6-10 will be from Harry's POV and will explore his dynamics with Zayn, and Chapters 11-16 will be all about Zayn and Liam, although I anticipate that we will also see a lot about Zerrie, as well. That all being said - there's no guarantee that this will have a happy OT3 ending. I'm still working through what will feel right on that front. At its core, this story is about what Liam said - that maybe it's too much to expect that you can get everything you want from one person.
> 
> Long Author's Note is long. I hope that cleared things up, but of course if you have any additional questions or concerns, leave a comment here or find me on Twitter/Tumblr and ask me there!


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past few weeks had been – well, there wasn't any other word for it. _Nice_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to Frida for being an awesome beta, and to all of you for reading.

Harry was at a point in his life where he was spending a lot of time eavesdropping on his boyfriend and ex-whatever. It's not like he consciously set out to listen in on their conversations – they just always left the door to the master bedroom open, or had heart-to-hearts in the kitchen while he was in the living room. Harry had half a mind that Zayn, at least, was doing it on purpose in a half-assed attempt to win Harry over again – show Harry that he was capable of being genuine. Too bad for Zayn, because Harry was still convinced that Zayn was full of shit.

The past few weeks had been – well, there wasn't any other word for it. _Nice_. All three of them went to Harry's parents' vineyard in Wine Country for Christmas, Harry plastering on his nicest smile for his step-dad and sister as he explained that Zayn was an old friend who they brought along since his fiancee was busy in Sacramento for Christmas. They accepted the explanation easily enough, but his mother dragged him into the kitchen under the pretense of needing his help to bring out the main course, fixing him with a concerned look the minute the door fell closed behind them. 

“Who is that boy, really?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow and pulling a bottle of red from off the counter, uncorking it with ease and pouring a generous amount into a glass for Harry. “He's been hanging off Liam all night, and you look upset.”

Harry sighed, shrugging as he took a sip from his glass. “It's complicated.”

His mother mirrored his shrug, her ruby lips pulling into a smile. “We've got time. Ten minutes, at least, before they start to get too suspicious.”

Harry took a large gulp from his glass, twirling the stem in his hand before blurting, “He's Liam's boyfriend.”

His mother pursed her lips, her eyes widening. “Never took Liam for the swinger type.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He's not a swinger, Mom. It's like a polyamorous thing.”

“Polyamorous?” his mother repeated. “What does that mean?”

Harry shrugged again. “Like, dating more than one person at a time and everyone being okay with it.”

“So you're all right with this?” his mother clarified. “Because you look like you aren't.”

Harry laughed hollowly. “I mean – no. But that's just because Zayn and I – we have our own history.”

“You two don't get on?”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip a bit. “I don't want you to judge me, Mom.” His mother fixed him with a disbelieving look and Harry laughed. “Ok, well like. Zayn and I – we used to be just fine. Fine enough to kind of date behind Liam's back for a year and a half.”

His mother just blinked, stunned and – yeah, that was a bit of disappointment there. “Oh, _Harry_.”

“Liam knows everything, now,” Harry continued, pushing through the discomfort of talking about his love life, in gory, unpleasant detail, with his mother. “And I know I've – Mom, you've got no idea how bad I screwed things up with Liam, but he's still here, so, I've got to show him I can be better. I've got myself into a mess, now I've got to deal with it.”

His mother leaned against the kitchen counter-top and looked at Harry contemplatively. “You've brought Zayn here tonight – both you and Liam brought him here, to see your step-dad and me. So, are you still dating Zayn, too?”

“God, no.”

His mother continued to examine him. “Do you still have feelings for Zayn?”

“No.”

“Harry, I'm your mother. This is a safe space. You don't have to lie to me.”

“I _don't_ , Mom.”

And Harry didn't have feelings for Zayn – unless white hot anger and frustration were the type of feelings his mother was referring to.

It's just – Zayn was so full of shit, as evidenced by his current conversation with Liam. Liam and Zayn were in the master bedroom, door flung wide open, and Harry was in the living room with Nicholas, television on mute as he listened to Zayn's latest over-dramatic declaration of love. These proclamations happened every few days now, ever since Zayn spent New Years Eve with Perrie in Sacramento, returning to Liam and Harry's apartment a few days later with a constellation of love bits all over his neck. Harry could only imagine what other marks Perrie left on Zayn's body – she always made a point of turning him loose with claw marks on his back, bruises on his hips, the echo of cuff marks on his wrists. Liam had been very upset about it, kicking Zayn out early before inviting Harry to bed that night, confiding, “I don't know – I just _hoped_ that he would come back and she would be gone.”

“You've got to remember what I told you,” Harry replied gently, running sure fingers along Liam's arms. “He's not going to leave her. He just won't. It's silly to think otherwise.”

“I know,” Liam had sniffled before Harry sighed and crawled into his lap to distract him. Harry and Liam had been fucking regularly ever since.

Harry assumed that Zayn was probably pulling the same move now, crowding into Liam's space, fingers warm where they splayed across Liam's broad back, commanding Liam's attention while Liam squirmed prettily. 

“I never want to hurt you,” Zayn was saying. “I've had enough of all of that.”

Liam mumbled something in response, words too jumbled, half-spoken for Harry to hear properly.

“I honestly – I don't do this shit on purpose. But you've gottta understand, Li. My heart is all scabbed over, used, broken,” Zayn said, his voice low, each word carefully measured. “I've got so much shit going on, and I'm not _used_ to this – to really liking someone. But you, Liam? Your heart is so pure and amazing – I'm just so scared that I'm going to fuck this all up.”

Harry snorted, legs jerking upward and disrupting Nicholas, who glared at Harry before settling back down again.

“Harry's said as much,” Liam answered. “He's – he knows you so well.”

Zayn was quiet for a few moments. “You know I still love him, Liam?”

Harry frowned. _This_ was new. There was another beat of silence before Liam replied, “Yeah, I mean – I had a feeling.”

“I'm just – it's hard to be around both of you. And I probably got carried away with Perrie – I always get carried away when I'm with her. But she _is_ my fiancee. You knew it could be like this, getting with me.”

Harry dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he unconsciously curled his fingers into a fist. Typical Zayn – taking his failings and spinning it around to make someone else feel guilty. Harry had half-hoped that Zayn was genuine in his feelings for Liam, more because he knew that it would be better for Liam's heart than because he wanted to be proven wrong, but shit like this helped hammer home how useless Zayn was. As if Harry could ever forget.

Harry stood up and left the apartment, suddenly needing fresh air and something to eat. 

 

Harry returned a few hours later, shutting the door behind him. Nicholas jumped down from the kitchen counter to greet him and Harry threw his keys into the bowl, walking into the living room and frowning when he only saw Zayn sitting on the couch.

“Where's Liam?” Harry asked, sitting as far away from Zayn as possible and grimacing when Nicholas jumped to sit besides Zayn instead of him.

“Someone from the office called him in, said they needed him to do something,” Zayn answered with a half shrug.

“So why are you here?”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Because I wanted to talk to you, you clown.”

Harry could _feel_ himself closing off, shutting down. “I'll pass, thanks.”

Zayn made a small, frustrated noise and crawled into Harry's lap, straddling him and digging his fingernails into Harry's shoulder. Harry hated that this was the method they used to get each other's attention. Harry winced at the pain and Zayn grinned. “Well, isn't this familiar.”

“Zayn,” Harry warned. “Zayn, get off.”

Zayn's grinned widened further. “Make me.”

Harry glared at Zayn, snaking an arm out and wrapping it around Zayn's neck, pulling him in to kiss him. Which was not _exactly_ what he had planned on doing, but what ultimately felt right. Harry could feel Zayn's smile against his lips so Harry brushed his tongue against Zayn's mouth, nipping at his bottom lip once Zayn finally returned the kiss and met Harry's tongue with his own. It was a rather exploratory kiss, not particularly leading anywhere, just testing each other's boundaries again. Zayn released his vice grip on Harry's shoulders, turning soft and almost malleable in Harry's hands, so Harry cupped his fingers beneath Zayn's ass and flipped him, ignoring Nicholas' indignant meow once Harry pressed Zayn's body to the couch, displacing the cat. Zayn smirked at Harry again, his eyes almost dark brown with his growing arousal, his dick a hard line where it tented the basketball shorts that Harry was pretty sure were actually Liam's, but Harry's eyes were glued to Zayn's puffy, swelling lips, so he leaned in for another kiss. 

“Still want me to leave?” Zayn whispered, leaning away from Harry and licking his kiss-bitten lips. “Still pretending like you don't want me?”

“Do you ever fucking shut up?” Harry asked. 

Zayn's eyes glinted and he pushed Harry backwards, straddling him again as he leaned forward and sucked another bruise into Harry's neck.

“Liam asked me about that last hickey, you know,” Harry said, squirming underneath Zayn's fingers.

“Yeah?” Zayn asked, pressing his thumb into the love bite once he was satisfied with the look of it. 

“Yeah. Told him it was from you. He didn't seem too upset about it.”

“He didn't ask me about it, but Liam's good people,” Zayn mumbled. “Not like I haven't noticed that you two have been sleeping together again. Think he'll be mad when I fuck you so good you won't walk straight all week?”

“ _Zayn_ ,” Harry groaned, hating himself for the way his dick jumped in the confines in his jeans.

“Missed this,” Zayn continued, pushing Harry's shirt up to press soft kisses down his ribcage. “Missed you. Missed fucking you,” Harry moaned, screwing his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to look at the triumphant look on Zayn's face as Zayn got Harry's jeans undone, pulling them off along with his boxers and throwing both articles of clothing across the room. “Gonna suck you off, then I'm gonna fuck you. That sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Harry whispered weakly.

Zayn laughed and crawled down the couch, wrapping his arms around Harry's hips and lifting Harry's legs over his shoulders. Zayn pressed a soft, chase kiss to the inside of Harry's thighs, following it up with a sharp bite that made Harry gasp and his dick spurt precome against his stomach. Zayn's fingers were soft but sure once they finally wrapped around Harry, and he readjusted Harry's legs on his shoulders once before sinking down on Harry's cock, his lips widening obscenely as Zayn took him in. 

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, burying his hand in Zayn's hair. “Oh, fuck, Zayn.”

Zayn's eyes fluttered closed as he sucked Harry off, and it was all strangely domestic – the television still on, some rerun of Criminal Minds, Nicholas padding around in the kitchen now that his dumbass owners were getting off in the living room, even Zayn rutting off against the couch cushion as he took Harry further and further into his mouth, choking slightly and his eyes widening with the effort. And for once, the sex between them was all about pleasure and not about punishing each other, Harry not holding Zayn's head still while he thrust into Zayn's mouth until Zayn cried or nearly threw up, Zayn not holding Harry's dick down as he slapped it, only taking Harry into his mouth when Harry was red and mottled all over from the intoxicating mix of arousal and discomfort. This – this was very nice. More like the type of sex Harry had with Liam. Harry could feel the creep of his orgasm behind his eyelids, it hitting him crushingly soon, the sensation starting in his fingertips and toes, and Zayn pulled off, almost reluctantly, keeping one hand on Harry's balls, cupping them delicately as he croaked, “Where's the nearest bottle of lube?”

“Guest bedroom drawer,” Harry said and Zayn slowly stood up and walked away, a wet spot at the front of his shorts. He returned a minute later with a box of condoms and a giant bottle of strawberry scented lube that Liam had bought at last year's Pride. Zayn placed the bottle of lube on the floor and returned to his earlier position, hooking Harry's legs over his shoulders.

“Should I like – get a towel or something?” Zayn asked as he reached for the lube and squirted some of it onto his fingers, accidentally drizzling some onto the couch as well.

Harry shrugged. “You already got lube on the furniture,” Harry pointed out. “Just get on with it already.”

“Bossy,” Zayn smirked, using his left hand to guide Harry's cock back into his mouth and circling Harry's rim with the pad of his right index finger. Harry pushed his ass against Zayn's searching finger and Zayn hummed contentedly around Harry before pressing in. 

It didn't take long to get Harry ready because yeah, Harry and Liam had started sleeping together again, good observational skills, Zayn, and Harry was already nice and relaxed, easily took one, two, then three fingers before Zayn was ripping open the condom wrapper with his teeth, pushing his basketball shorts off and sliding the latex down his thick, cut dick and covering it with lube. “C'mere,” Zayn mumbled, grabbing Harry's ankles and manhandling him onto his side. Zayn pushed Harry's leg up, pressing Harry's knee against his chest, before lining himself with Harry's entrance, pressing in slowly, watching as he buried himself in.

“Fuck,” Harry moaned, wrapping a hand around his dick. Zayn groaned when he got himself in all the way and paused, waiting for Harry to adjust. “Yeah,” Harry mumbled, tugging himself more aggressively, and Zayn pulled almost all the way out and then slid back in. It was – fuck, Harry could feel Zayn so deep inside of him, was trembling almost the minute they got started, started fantasizing about Liam finding them like this, both Zayn and Harry half-dressed in their hurry to get off, Liam pulling them apart so he could fuck them both, ruin them both, show them who was really in control here – 

“You thinking about Liam?” Zayn asked, slapping Harry's face and pulling Harry closer to him by the neck. Zayn looked so good like this, hair a mess, his T-shirt sticking to his chest, filthy with sweat and lube. “You thinking about your boyfriend when you're with me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry hissed, relenting his hold on his dick to move his fingers back, behind his scrotum, so he could feel where Zayn's body was slowly fucking into his own. Zayn groaned, eyes transfixed on the movement of Harry's fingers, before he slowly pulled out entirely and sat back against the couch. 

“You know what to do,” Zayn said and Harry grinned, crawling over Zayn and lining himself above him, sinking onto Zayn's dick with a content sigh. Zayn kissed Harry languidly as he fucked into him, Harry's mouth falling open with these small, half-sighs. “I can't wait until I get to watch him fuck you,” Zayn gasped, pulling away from Harry's mouth and pushing Harry's sweaty curls out of his face. “He must be so beautiful, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled. “So hot.”

“You're good,” Zayn replied, almost nonsensically. “You're so good. You getting off on the idea of all of us?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, the tingling picking up again behind his eyes, creeping through his veins, the tightening in his balls. “Zayn, I'm gonna – ”

“I want to tongue him and watch him come on your face,” Zayn blurted and Harry came, pressing his head along Zayn's shoulder and sobbing as his orgasm was wrenched out of him, covering both of their T-shirts with his spunk. Zayn grunted, pushing Harry off of him and back onto the couch, manhandling Harry until he was lying face-up. Zayn ripped the condom off and threw it onto their coffee table, pumping himself fast and desperate before streaking across Harry's face, getting some of his spunk on the couch cushion and in Harry's hair. Harry was too blissed out to even think about giving a fuck. Zayn cursed, running his finger through the mess on Harry's face and Harry grabbed Zayn's wrist, wrapping his lips around Zayn's finger and sucking the taste of Zayn off of it.

Which was, of course, how Liam found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think you all realize how much I want to hurt my own characters in this story.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just – Harry deserved this, didn't he, had probably been subconsciously waiting for the moment where Liam finally unloaded on him, finally realized this relationship wasn't worth saving, finally saw Harry for the piece of shit he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Frida for basically shaping the way this chapter came out (I wrote two drafts of it and scrapped the first one), then yelling at me about it, and unsuccessfully trying to convince me to change the pairings. And thanks to all of you for asking me great questions and leaving awesome comments every week. You are all an absolute pleasure to write for.

To say that Liam was upset was an understatement.

He was yelling as soon as he walked in the apartment. Zayn stumbled away from Harry, the distance he put between their bodies after their earlier proximity speaking more than anything Zayn could have ever actually said to Harry. 

“It's not what it looks like,” Zayn blurted nonsensically, like the fucking cliché he was. Harry gaped at him.

“He's not fucking stupid, Zayn,” Harry cursed, getting up from the couch and tearing his dirty top off, using it to wipe off his hair and face. If he was going to be naked, shamed, then he might as well own it, right? It wasn't anything Liam hadn't seen before, just not . . . like _this_. God. Harry had _fucked up_. Figured that Harry would only just emerge from out of the doghouse before getting thrust back in again. “It's exactly what it looks like, Liam, I'm sorry.”

Liam groaned, leaning against the wall and thumping his head against it, once, then twice. “I can't even find it in me to be surprised. I was only gone for three fucking hours! And you two don't even have the decency to take it to the guest bedroom – or even get your rocks off in my bed! What did my fucking _couch_ ever do to you? _My couch_?”

Harry shifted in his seat, and chanced a glance at Zayn, who had bowed his head and was putting on a good act of looking rebuked. Harry turned away from Zayn, the sight of him suddenly nauseating. 

It was just – Harry deserved this, didn't he, had probably been subconsciously waiting for the moment where Liam finally unloaded on him, finally realized this relationship wasn't worth saving, finally saw Harry for the piece of shit he was, finally rode off into the sunset with Louis. Successful, well-adjusted, best friend waiting in the wings Louis. 

This was it, in all of its uncomfortable, awful glory, everything he had been working toward, the macabre finale, the desperate last gasp of a man committed to his slow downward spiral, what Harry had been destroying himself to accomplish.

But Liam just seemed to deflate, anger zapping from him as he slid to the ground, burying his face in his hands. Harry knew, even though he couldn't hear anything besides Liam's low, shuddering gasps, that Liam was crying.

“Babe,” Zayn started but already Liam's metaphorical haunches were raised, his hurt almost radiating off of him in waves that Harry could feel, could practically taste. 

“No, don't you dare," Liam hissed. "I'm _sick_ of this, Zayn. You never take responsibility for your actions, you always act like all of this is unintentional, like this is all somehow Harry and mine's fault when you're probably the _worst_ of us here. What happened – you tripped and Harry fell on your dick?”

Zayn stepped back like he was slapped. “Liam – “

“No, Zayn, I mean it.” Liam was still crying but his normally warm brown eyes were steely, cruel, almost, where they glinted through his tears. “I have never met someone who treated me _worse_ than you do, and yes, that _does_ include Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry chimed in dully. He did recognize that he had that coming, though.

“Oh, don't worry, babe, I'll get to you, too,” Liam sneered. It really wasn't a welcome sight on his face and Harry flinched, sinking further into himself, trying to hide himself in the couch. “But honestly, Zayn, have you ever told me anything that you actually meant?”

Zayn had the gall to look offended. “You think I've been lying to you about how I feel?”

Liam threw his arms out, gesturing to the scene before him and laughed hollowly. “Do you blame me? I know you said that you and Harry have – _unfinished business_ , what the fuck ever – ”

“I told you I'm still in love with him, Liam!” Zayn exclaimed. “What the fuck did you _think_ would happen if you left the two of us alone in a room?”

“I don't know – maybe that you two would _talk_ like normal people, not immediately get right back to fucking.” Liam shook his head suddenly, violently, and ran his hand through his fringe, fingers shaking. “And don't even look surprised – I know you two didn't exchange more than ten sentences before you both had your pants off. The two of you were unable to get along for _ages_ , and I thought it was just – I honestly believed it was because you two hated each other and were jealous of what I had with the other. I didn't realize that it was sexual tension, or whatever – I thought it was just some strange pissing contest, fucking gay chicken – I don't know. I'm so fucking _stupid_.”

“It's really unfair that you're throwing all of this onto Liam,” Harry mumbled in Zayn's general direction, keeping his eyes on his arms where he had crossed them across his chest. “That was a piss poor attempt at deflection.”

“Wow, I'll keep that in mind,” Zayn snarled. “Next time I want to do something shitty, I'll just break up with Liam first, right?”

“Maybe you should,” Liam countered. “I mean – is that what you do with Perrie? Is that where Harry learned the technique?” Liam licked his lips and smiled, and it was so superficial and thin lipped that Harry gulped. “Where does she even think you _are_ right now?”

Harry knew the minute it left Liam's mouth that Zayn would consider the broach of Perrie's name to be a low-blow, completely out of line and under the belt, and basically run from the rest of the conversation. Harry _knew_ it. Harry – he could talk about Perrie all day until he was blue in the face, and he had, in the past, when he was curious about their dynamic, when Zayn would invite Harry to events with his boys – Danny, Ant, and his best friend, Niall – and suddenly Perrie would appear and Zayn would let her hang off his shoulder, kissing her on the dance-floor and then pulling Harry's pants off in the men's toilets. Harry knew even then that it was hypocritical, getting so worked up over Zayn and Perrie's relationship when he would tumble into bed with Liam every night, but honestly – Zayn and Perrie didn't make any fucking sense. Still didn't, as far as Harry could tell. But the reason why Zayn never got too worked up over Harry asking was because he never considered Harry to be a legitimate threat to whatever the fuck Zayn and Perrie had. Harry wasn't going to demand some ridiculous ultimatum – choosing between Harry or Perrie – because Harry didn't even want Zayn like that, wouldn't choose Zayn in a contest with a Burberry jacket, let alone one that mattered, like the question of Zayn or Liam.

And Harry still wouldn't choose Zayn, although Harry could admit, kind of, maybe, now that he had fucked Zayn again, that he was a tad bit obsessed with him – at least in theory, with the idea of what Zayn could be. But Harry knew – what Zayn and Harry inspired in each other was unhealthy. It wasn't the type of obsession that led to anything productive, that made you aspire to be a better person and get your life in order. It was more like the type of obsession that served as the linchpin for tragedies, and while Zayn seemed content to be a cliché, Harry was aspiring to something a little greater. Liam made Harry want to be a better person – Harry just wasn't sure he _could_ be.

And Harry knew – that's why Liam bringing Perrie up was a low blow. Why it was always a conversation killer whenever Liam mentioned her name. Because Liam _was_ a legitimate threat to whatever the fuck Zayn and Perrie had, because Liam _would_ demand some ridiculous ultimatum, because Zayn would have to give it a lot of thought as to who he would choose.

Because Liam made Zayn want to be a better person, and Zayn had already convinced himself that he _couldn't_ be.

It was all very interesting, and if Harry cared more, he would've said that Zayn's relationship with Liam almost humanized Zayn a bit – the fact that he actually did care, legitimately had feelings for Liam but was incapable of convincingly acting as though he did. 

But, as it were, Harry wasn't feeling particularly empathetic. So the subsequent events were just kind of amusing. The way Zayn's face immediately closed off and his back straightened, the way he bit off, “I'll get ready to go back to her, then, if that's what you two want,” and locked himself in the guest bedroom, presumably to take a shower and sulk before heading back to his own apartment. Liam watched him walk by with a cool detached expression before turning back to Harry.

A beat of silence. Awkwardness.

“Is there.” Liam paused, licked his lips. “Is there anything worth saving here?”

Harry forced himself to meet Liam's eyes. “Are you asking me if I want to break up?”

“No,” Liam said, the word wretched out of him almost like a gasp. “I never – it doesn't make any sense, but even with everything, I don't want – ”

“Yeah, no, I understand.” And Harry _did_. It was stupid, impossibly naïve, and just on this side of unhealthy and mutually destructive, to still want to be together, knowing all that they had done – well, all that Harry had done. But Harry meant it. He couldn't – he knew that he had already done everything possible to push Liam away, but that was because he was insecure and foolish, not because he didn't legitimately _love_ Liam. And Harry knew that Liam loved him too, otherwise he wouldn't still be here, wouldn't have asked Harry to stick around even while trying to forge something with Zayn. 

Liam was selfless in a way Harry could never hope to be.

“Is it _enough_ , though?” Liam asked. “With all that's happened – could we even possibly get to a point where everything's okay? That's what I mean. Not – not like I _want_ to, but would it be better for the two of us if we just cut our losses here?”

“And just leave it like _this_? Another instance of unfinished business, a whole universe of 'what-ifs'?”

“But I can't keep doing it the way we have, Harry,” Liam confessed. “I just – you're sitting on the couch right now and you smell like Zayn and it's driving me _crazy_. This isn't how things are supposed to be.”

“The whole time I was with him I was thinking about you.” Harry pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on his shins. “And I – I don't know. Maybe this is a weird, ridiculous way of trying to get your attention again. You care so much about him and he's – God, he's a tremendous fuck-up. And I know it's because he has some unresolved shit to deal with, and that's not my story to tell, but like – you two actually _talk_ , even if 98% of what he says is absolute nonsense. And I'm just. Here. Eavesdropping on you two all the time. Wishing you still confided in me, too.”

Liam's expression softened. “Harry – ”

“No, don't feel bad for me,” Harry said, shaking his head. “You really shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't.”

“Maybe we should see a therapist.”

Harry shrugged, scrubbing at his face, cringing when his hands still came away filthy. “Probably.”

“Louis recommended a few people we could see.”

Harry couldn't even keep himself from making a face. “Of _course_ Louis has some ideas.”

Liam frowned. “I really don't like how you talk about him, Harry. He's my best friend. He _was_ your best friend, too, and he's told me – what you said.”

Harry frowned. “What'd I say?”

“That you think he's pining after me.” Liam stood, a bit unsteadily, but he still proved an impressive figure when he leaned against the wall. “I don't think that's fair, and you know it.”

“What do you mean?”

Liam chewed on the inside of his cheek for a few moments, mulling over his words very carefully. “Just because you fuck all of your friends doesn't mean everyone else does. Just because that's how you show any vaguely positive emotion – but, Louis and I – we're just friends. You know he's straight, and you know that if Louis did have something for me, he would've gone after me years ago. You would've never even been a factor.”

The straightforwardness of Liam's statement was just on that side of cutting. Harry could already hear it reverberating around inside of his skull, words that would easily keep him up for nights to come: “ _You would've never even been a factor_.” The truth wasn't supposed to be quite so painful, was it? “But – all of this is resting on Louis. Are you saying – like. If Louis had been interested, you would've gone after him?”

“Of course,” Liam answered plainly. “But he wasn't interested. He never _has_ been. And our friendship now – we're pretty painfully just friends, and I think that's what unnerves you so much, because you can't even fathom the idea that someone would be interested in you only for you, and not just because you're so good in bed, and Louis can see straight through your insecurity. He warned me about it – _shit_. Years ago, when we first started hanging out. Said that it was obvious that you couldn't believe I could ever be interested in you, even though you were around all the time and I clearly liked you, and that you would act out the minute I finally gave in and started properly dating you. And then you proved him right.”

Harry squirmed, not even sure if he was capable of dealing with all of the emotions bubbling up inside of him. “Liam – ”

“Tell Zayn to clean up the living room and that I'll – I don't know. I'm not going to call him. Maybe I'll text him in a week, or something. Maybe even less.” Liam shrugged and walked through to the kitchen. Harry could hear him fish his keys out of the bowl. “You can take a shower in the master bedroom, if you'd like. I'm going to go over to Louis', but I'll be home later. I think I just need to drink a lot.”

Harry was feeling dazed, so he couldn't even imagine what Liam was holding in, still. And of course – as usual – it was all Harry's fault. “Um, all right.”

“Honestly though, tell Zayn to go back home to his fiancee,” Liam said. “I'll see you. Love you, Harry.”

“Love you, Liam,” Harry called back in reply, but Liam had already slammed the door closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week we transition to Zayn's point of view. On a scale of one to ten, how wary are you to see what he has to say?


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very insistent part of Zayn's brain wanted to undo the last string of Liam's composure, take Liam apart with his tongue, ruin him beyond repair, bring him down to Zayn and Harry's level, but Zayn was afraid to – knew that he could, that Liam would let him, and then where would they all be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of really depressing, and that's after I cut out two really disturbing scenes from it. So yeah. Just warnings for that. Heed the new tags I've added.
> 
> Thanks to Frida for reading over this even though we've both had really interesting days. And thanks, of course, to all of you for reading every week.

It's not like Zayn was actively avoiding Liam. He was just not answering any of his texts or phone calls and hadn't stopped by the apartment in something like two weeks. If Liam wanted to know what Zayn was doing, he could fucking ask Harry, or come down to Starbucks, or visit him at State. Harry always knew where to find Zayn, was one of those people who just always seemed to know where Zayn was – Liam should be able to figure it out, too, if he really needed to get a hold of Zayn so bad, to _talk it out_. As far as Zayn was concerned, there wasn't much to talk about. Yeah, he'd probably fucked up. But he did that, and fairly often, so. Nothing more to discuss there.

Except Niall was constantly telling him to suck it up and go back over there to clean up his own mess. Niall, Zayn's best friend for ages, the one who drove up with Zayn from Southern California to go to Berkeley, the one who kept Zayn sane when Berkeley wasn't everything he thought it would be, the one who was always there to pick up the pieces and never asked why things never fucking quite worked out right for Zayn. Niall was just a good fucking guy.

“Should've seen this coming a mile away,” Niall said when Zayn first came back from Harry and Liam's apartment, the shadow sensation of Harry's skin still lingering underneath Zayn's fingertips. Zayn walked into the kitchen and promptly upended a bottle of Andre's into his mouth, Niall pouring himself a bit of Jack because he never let Zayn throw a pity party all by himself. Misery loves company and all that. They settled on the floor of the living room, Zayn tracing nonsensical patterns on Niall's feet while Niall hummed and watched Adventure Time. “Did you consciously plan to fuck Harry, though?”

Zayn shrugged. Niall knew everything about Zayn's life – knew that he was engaged, knew that he was involved in a messy threesome with two people he was decidedly not engaged to – hell, Niall had even met Harry a few times, when life was slightly less complicated. Zayn told Niall everything, and Zayn was definitely willing to tell Niall these sad, sordid details, except it didn't matter, did it? He was fucking obsessed with both Harry and Liam, and had made a point of hanging around all the time, so even though it wasn't like he had sat down that morning and said, “Hmm, today is the day I finally get back inside of Styles,” it's not like he had completely thrown the idea out anyway. He wasn't making any real headway with Liam, who was just decidedly good, refused to become a part of this fucking game that Zayn and Harry were pros at. Zayn respected that about Liam as much as he wanted to ruin it.

Zayn decided he would just sigh as answer to all of Niall's questions and passed out on the living room floor, falling into a pattern in which he alternated drinking with smoking all day over the next two weeks.

 

One morning that felt like all of the other mornings, someone was banging on the apartment door at approximately too fucking early in the AM. Or maybe it was the early afternoon? Zayn wasn't sure, had only just woken up and gotten out of the shower, hair wasn't even fucking done yet and Niall was off at work. Zayn had called in to Starbucks himself, claiming a migraine, which was essentially the truth since he was nauseous as fuck and his head felt like it was splitting in two, something that was not being helped by the banging, of course. He had been skipping classes a lot lately, but had been good about going to work – being hungover at Starbucks was definitely a certain form of hell, considering all the noise from the fucking blenders, but if he had a few Bloody Mary's in him he could _almost_ be personable and friendly, so that solved that problem. Except this day he couldn't even find the energy to give a fuck, so he didn't go in.

Zayn had absolutely no idea who was banging on the door, though. Hopefully not his landlord.

Zayn grabbed a pair of pants off the floor that were probably Perrie's, actually, and threw a hoodie on before wrenching the door open. And of course Liam was standing there.

Zayn studied Liam, making note of every detail. Liam looked like he hadn't shaved lately, more facial hair than Zayn remembered, and his hair looked silky and smooth where it framed his face. He was breathing a bit heavily, probably from nerves, and his hands trembled slightly. Liam sighed out Zayn's name, and Zayn memorized the barely restrained emotion in his voice, almost like Liam was glad to see Zayn, and Zayn wondered why Liam was even _here_ , how he knew where Zayn lived. Harry, probably. Huh. Props to Liam for actually using Harry as a resource for insights on Zayn for once.

“Harry give you my address then?” Zayn just had to have it confirmed. Liam nodded. Zayn fought against the urge to roll his eyes. “You two fucking again then?”

Liam squirmed underneath Zayn's scrutiny. “He's my boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” Zayn said, leaning against the door frame. He was being a bit cruel already, he knew it, but Liam had showed up out of the blue. Although maybe Liam had called to say he was coming over and Zayn had just ignored it? Whatever. Details. Zayn might still be a little drunk. The cruelty couldn't be helped, could it? “I hadn't been too sure on that lately.”

“That's not fair, Zayn.”

Zayn looked everywhere but at Liam – down at his hands, squinting beyond Liam's shoulders, watching the fog roll in from San Francisco, the view the only good thing about this shitty apartment. “Really? I mean – I feel like it's a legitimate question. The way you treat him – I'm never quite sure.”

“The way _I_ treat him?” Zayn wasn't used to hearing such indignation in Liam's voice, definitely not directed at him.

“Yeah,” Zayn continued. “You always act like he's responsible for everything shitty in your life. But like – you can leave, yeah? He gives you all the opportunities in the world, and yet you constantly yo-yo with him. You know who he is. You know people don't _change_. You either want him or you don't.”

“That's really fucking rich, coming from you, Zayn,” Liam snarled. “Since you were the one fucking him for months behind my back, and you still can't even tell me the truth about it. I didn't _deserve_ to get cheated on, and I'm fucking _sorry_ if I'm still a little upset about it.” Liam's anger was quick, as usual, and, _as usual_ , he deflated under the pressure of it all. This was why they never got anything resolved, Zayn realized. Liam was always unwilling to push, unwilling to dwell too long on the things that made him so miserable, and Zayn and Harry were never going to voluntarily lure the skeletons out of their own closets. “Where is she?” Liam mumbled instead. He looked very out of place, standing in front of Zayn's open door in the heart of West Oakland, well-dressed white boy in the middle of the hood, uncomfortable. A very insistent part of Zayn's brain wanted to undo the last string of Liam's composure, take Liam apart with his tongue, ruin him beyond repair, bring him down to Zayn and Harry's level, but Zayn was afraid to – knew that he could, that Liam would let him, and then where would they all be?

So Zayn just shrugged. “Out.” Of course Perrie wasn't at the apartment – she didn't live here, only Zayn and Niall did. Perrie came down once a week or so, and that was when her schedule was being generous. Not like Zayn particularly cared – he hadn't talked to her in something like four days, and the last time he had been drunk off his ass and Niall had to take the phone away, easily lying and telling her that Zayn was worried about his grades or something of that sort. It had become harder and harder, lately. Caring – about the engagement, that particular relationship, especially now that he (kind of) had his boys, Liam and Harry. He had put in a good show for the past few months, smiling whenever he talked about the girl waiting in Sacramento to the handful of people who regularly asked about her (and she was always waiting, too, never with him, never acting out her own agency, only existing when Zayn summoned her into being) but now – eh. He was always coming, usually with someone else, and she was always going. It wasn't a matter of being in love or not being in love, it was just wondering how many good people Zayn could surround himself with before he destroyed them all.

Zayn cut his eyes to Liam, this perfect man with the face of a fairy tale prince, and breathed, inviting him in even when his heart was screaming at him to make Liam go, to give Zayn more time to lick his wounds and recalibrate his moves now in the wake of, well. Everything.

The apartment was a bit of a mess because both Zayn and Niall were naturally disgusting, and now that Zayn was drinking and smoking more, there were liquor bottles and drug paraphernalia all over the place. Liam frowned a bit but sat on the couch anyway, turning down Zayn's offer to get him something to drink.

“It would be correct to assume that all you probably have is beer and Hennessy, right?” Liam asked with a weak smile.

“Black Label, yeah,” Zayn answered. “So.”

Liam rubbed at the inside of his thighs. “So. This is where you live?”

“Yeah, with my boy, Niall. He works at this massive studio a few blocks from here. Metal work and shit like that.”

Liam nodded. “That sounds cool.”

“How come you aren't at work?”

Liam shrugged. “Asked for a few days off to tend to some personal issues. Harry took time off, too.”

Zayn snorted. “Harry hardly works. Unless you count looking for new Spotify playlists all day.”

Liam chuckled but didn't disagree, and then his face went serious. “We've started looking into seeing a therapist. Louis gave us a list of people who specialize in polyamorous relationships.”

“That's nice.”

“I think you should come with us.”

Zayn blinked. “I wasn't aware I was dating either of you.”

Liam looked distinctly unimpressed. “When you blatantly lie like that, do you actually believe what you're saying? I've always wondered.”

Zayn bit the inside of his cheek, but his inner cruel streak couldn't just let something like that go. “When you tell Harry that you think there's something in that relationship worth saving, do you actually believe it?”

Liam leaned back against the couch, crossed his arms. “Of course I believe it.” Earnest until the end. “When you tell Perrie you love her, do _you_ actually mean it?”

Zayn groaned. “Stop bringing her up.”

“Why? I'm sick of dancing around her, pretending like she doesn't exist. Just because that's how _you_ cope with your own shitty choices doesn't mean I need to, too.”

“When did you suddenly become such a champion for fucking justice, or whatever the fuck this is?” Zayn snarled. “Suddenly it's all about putting me under the spotlight, like you didn't already have a fucking clue that I was a shit person.”

“This isn't about putting you under a spotlight – ”

“Obviously it is,” Zayn interrupted. “And yeah, I get that having sex with Harry without asking for your permission was theoretically fucked up – ”

“ _Theoretically_?” Liam repeated, arching an eyebrow.

“But honestly, you act like he isn't still going around behind your back – ”

“That's not even true!” Liam exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. “You are just making shit up. Harry is at the apartment _every fucking day_. When he's not with me, he's with you. Do you think I'm fucking _stupid_?”

Zayn couldn't help himself, had to push it a little farther, had to always add that one comment that cut the deepest. So of course he said, “Like I've ever cheated on Perrie with someone who isn't.”

And then Liam was everywhere, suddenly standing, his hand gripping Zayn's hips as he pushed Zayn up against the wall. “Is this what you want, Zayn?” Liam snarled, punctuating it by slotting his thighs between Zayn's and grinding up against Zayn slowly, cruelly. “Is this what you and Harry get up to, then? Insult each other until you're both coming? Play a game of who can tell the most outrageous lies until you've got each others' clothes off?”

“It's not like that – ”

“Bullshit,” Liam interrupted. “Wanna play pretend, wanna imagine that I'm Harry?”

Zayn choked out another rebuttal but Liam ignored him, digging his fists into Zayn's sweatpants and pulling them down, groaning at the sight of Zayn's bulge in his plain black briefs before jerking them to pool around Zayn's ankles as well. Zayn could feel himself flushing with embarrassment and he went to cover himself but Liam just slapped his hands away, glaring at Zayn but not touching him where it mattered.

“Turn around,” Liam commanded and Zayn did as he was told, bracing himself against the wall as Liam kneaded at the fleshy part of his ass. “Spread yourself,” Liam said. “Lemme see you.”

“Liam – ” The embarrassment was almost too much in how it made his whole body hot, fidgety. He dug his feet into the carpet and squirmed underneath Liam's scrutinizing eyes.

“Just do it,” Liam answered firmly and Zayn complied, hands shaking as he brought them to his ass. Liam choked back a moan and ran a finger down Zayn's crack before following the same path with his tongue. Zayn cried out weakly, letting go of himself to brace against the wall, but Liam made a small, dissatisfied noise and Zayn reached back around to spread himself open again, trembling as Liam's mouth made pleasure radiate throughout his entire body.

“I'm gonna fuck you,” Liam mumbled at one point, biting Zayn's thigh and touching the pad of his thumb to Zayn's opening. Zayn groaned, so overwhelmed at the idea – he had wanted this for so long now, for ages, had imagined Liam dismantling him with his dick, fucking Zayn into oblivion. “Remember how I told you that I wanted it to be special – that I wanted it to mean something?”

Zayn thudded his head against the wall, choked out, “ _Yes_.”

“What's it gonna mean now, you think?” Liam asked, standing and aligning himself behind Zayn, his breath tickling Zayn's ear and setting his skin on fire. Liam reached down and grabbed a handful of Zayn's ass, squeezing it painfully. Zayn growled as Liam laughed. “Didn't you say that you were scared of fucking all of this up – of ruining me?” Zayn nodded and Liam nipped at his neck, pushing Zayn completely into the wall as Zayn heard the hiss of a belt unbuckled, the rustle of pants falling to the floor. Zayn turned his neck enough just to catch the sight of Liam slicking his fingers with spit, and then he felt Liam right there, nudging at his entrance with his index finger. It was just on that edge of being too dry and Zayn cried out as Liam finally got his first finger worked in, pumping it in and out, edging Zayn open and hissing obscenities into Zayn's ears, calling him everything he already knew he was – a fucking liar, a cheat, only good for one thing. Good for _this_.

Zayn didn't even realize he was crying until Liam had withdrawn his fingers and flipped Zayn around, the cold expression completely wiped away from his face. Instead he looked – fuck, he looked _scared_. “Oh my God, Zayn, babe – ”

“No, what'd you stop for?” Zayn demanded, blinking away the wetness in his eyes and gripping at Liam's arms. “C'mon, fuck me, yeah? That's what whores are good for, _c'mon_ , Liam.”

“Is this really what gets you and Harry off?” Liam asked, his voice distant as he used his clean hand to cup Zayn's face. “I just – he mentioned that you liked it rough, that you liked to be called names and all that, and I guess I just _went_ for it, but this – ?”

“Liam,” Zayn begged. “Liam, please. Punish me, I _need_ it.”

Liam's face looked torn between apologetic and horrified. “I – I don't think I can, Zayn. I don't think I can do that for you – this isn't a game, is it? It's not just role-playing, or whatever. You honestly believe those things about yourself.”

“What's it matter, yeah?” Zayn retorted. “Let's just get _you_ off.”

Liam shook his head. “I don't think I want this.”

“Liam – ”

“I honestly don't think I can, Zayn.”

Zayn slumped to the floor, burying his face in his knees. “Fuck you.”

“Zayn – “

Zayn couldn't bear to bring his head up. This was quite possibly the worst day ever. “You come over and make me feel like shit and then you won't even get me off. Go home to Harry. Go see your fancy fucking therapist, and send Louis my regards. Fuck this, don't call me.”

“Are you – ”

Zayn rubbed his eyes and glared at Liam. “Get out.”

Liam put his hands up in front of him defensively but made sure to wash his hands before he left. Zayn sat on the floor for another half hour, just trying to catch his breath, before he broke into the bottle of Black Label.  


End file.
